Something In The Water
by Kemmasandi
Summary: The New World at its worst is an inhospitable and terrible place, but even within the jaws of Hell can be found friendships worth fighting for... -MarcoxOC, eventually.
1. Prologue: Far From The Sun

Hello there, and welcome to the all-new super-fantastic revamped version of _Something in The Water_! Apologies for the lateness… but here we go.

**A quick note before we continue:** In the future, I can't promise that there won't be any more multiple-month breaks between chapters. Me and deadlines don't have that good of a relationship, you see. So, if you're ever wondering where the next chapter is, hop across to kemmasandi dot deviantart dot com (direct link on my author profile here). That's Roofies' unofficial home, with illustrations and extra fun stuff as well as its' own versions of the chapters. It's also the easiest place you can contact me.

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><p>"You can think and you can fight, but the world's always movin', and if you wanna stay ahead you gotta dance."<p>

– _Sardines, The Amazing Maurice And His Educated Rodents_

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><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Prologue: Far From The Sun_

A frozen wind blew steadily across the island. The sky was white, and, with a heavy blanket of fresh snow covering the rocky ground, so was the earth. Sea fog, advancing slowly off the ocean, blurred the horizon, making it impossible to tell where the ground left off and the clouds began.

The island had no name; had never had any inhabitants to bother with giving it one. It was a mere scrap of too-cold land in the vastness of the ocean, far off the trade routes of the rare merchants who ventured this close to the Calm Belt.

Still, the island was not a wasteland. Here and there, tufts of spring grass poked through the crust of snow, in the lee of rocks and the few hardy shrubs which grew in what little fertile soil they could find. And animals lived here: all but the newest drifts were marked with the prints of hares, snowfoxes, and lemmings. It was too small for the deer and oxen which populated the island's larger neighbours, but for the smaller beasts, it was a private haven.

Most of the time, at least.

Raucous barking split the air even before Daegal's dinghy ground ashore. The dogs weighing down the stern of the little boat scrambled around and over each other, eyes wide and tongues lolling out in their eagerness to begin the day's work.

Safe in the bow, Daegal watched their antics out the corner of his eye. He'd landed the dinghy on this tiny, isolated beach countless times before, so often he could have done it in his sleep. Yet each and every time, the dogs went as mad with anticipation as they had on their very first visit.

He was a trapper, eking out a living by going from island to island, collecting the skins and meat and anything else that was even slightly usable from the local wildlife. The dogs were his trackers, bodyguards, company - and at times like these, his on-call entertainment. Chuckling softly, he guided the dinghy onwards through the icy wavelets, while the dogs behind him continued their eager dance.

Soon the waves began to push the dinghy closer to shore. The tip of Daegal's oar struck the gravel bottom of the beach, and almost immediately the hull ground to a halt after it. The dogs felt the gentle impact through the frame of the boat, halting in mid-step and staring expectantly at Daegal. Grinning, the trapper reached out to untie the knot that kept the pack's leashes fixed to the stern.

"There ya go, you pack o' mongrels. Go find me a nice fat ptarmigan for breakfast."

The first to be freed – the boss of the pack, a one-eyed white mongrel – immediately leapt overboard, landing in the surf with a mighty splash. The dinghy rocked; Daegal's gloved fingers fumbled with the knot, and the rest of the pack flowed after One-Eye like one unified animal. They splashed through the shallows and up onto the beach, where they raced up and down the shoreline, baying madly.

Daegal let them play, scrambling out of the dinghy with human awkwardness. Shuddering at the chill of the water, he dragged the dinghy ashore, and further up the beach, well past the high-tide mark. Hurriedly drying his hands on the thick blankets he kept in the watertight compartment under the bow seat, he checked to make sure the insides of his boots were still dry as well. Daegal had a reputation for being over-careful, but in these islands, the cold could maim and kill.

That done, he stuffed the blankets back in their compartment, and stood, gazing out along the beach. The dogs gambolled noisily at the far end, at the foot of a set of granite bluffs that rose up to a point twenty metres or so above the ocean. Grey sky, grey stone, grey sea, white snow. The lonely cries of seabirds floated out of the encroaching fog.

Trudging closer to the looming bluffs, Daegal reached inside the collar of his jacket and withdrew the dog whistle that hung on a cord around his neck. He put it to his lips, and blew one short, sharp blast. The dogs ears' pricked up, and they gazed attentively at the trapper, waiting to be given their signal.

"Away with yas!" he called out, gesturing with both arms to the narrow goat track that led around the end of the bluffs. The sound bounced off the cliffs, echoing out across the gentle ocean. As one, the dogs wheeled about and raced up the beach, heading for the track.

Daegal followed, hunching his shoulders deeper into his fur-lined jacket as an icy gust of wind howled across the beach. The track, kept clear by the few woolly goats that wandered the island, was his main hunting ground. Other animals than the goats used it; all smaller, and most of them prized by the fur traders Daegal supplied. He had twenty-five traps at certain points around the island, all baited and waiting for prey.

The dogs quickly found the first trap, a flax snare set across what Daegal had suspected was a hare's run. There was a hare in it, a thin-looking adolescent with a snowy white pelt. The dogs clustered around, teeth bared in canine grins as Daegal loosened the snare, depositing the hare inside his game bag. He stood, searching for a new place to put the snare, and spent a few minutes fixing it between a pair of tussocks, over a well-established run not far from its original place.

Then he blew on the whistle again, and the dogs ranged off, eagerly heading after the next trap.

The next two snares were empty. One still remained as Daegal had set it, while the other had been dragged well out of place and broken, tufts of greasy goat wool clinging to the remnants of a noose.

"Guess some dumb goat stepped in it," Daegal commented wryly, as the dogs whuffed goodnaturedly around him. They didn't like wasting their time on empty traps – nothing interesting to smell. Daegal shook his head, winding the remnants of the snare up into a ball and stuffing them into one of the many pockets on his jacket. He'd see if it could be repaired once he got home.

The fourth and fifth traps had been sprung, once on a fat young hare, and once on a giant snow gecko, which had dropped its tail in the trap and gone free. The sixth held the remains of another hare, the snow around it trampled by the pawprints of a family of foxes. Daegal cursed the air blue at that, roughly shaking the dead hare from the trap. He'd have to take this one home as well, and leave it out in the garden for a while until it lost the bloody smell. Even the geckoes, the dumbest creatures on the planet, stayed away from a trap that smelled so much like death.

Later on in the afternoon, the dogs led Daegal into the lowlands of the island. It was a treacherous swamp at the best of times, and the fresh snow hindered their progress as they had to find their usual path under almost six inches of the stuff.

He'd only set a couple of traps here, as the animals he was after tended to stay out of the lowlands. But as he and the dogs emerged from the worst of the swamp, they began to see evidence of something else, something unusual moving through the landscape.

Here and there, something big – bigger than the goats – had lumbered through the snow, carving out a zig-zag path between points where it had paused, leaving big holes in the snow. There had been one, maybe two snowfalls since then, Daegal guessed as he studied the tracks. The dogs ranged on ahead, sniffing the trail and yipping excitedly.

What on earth had made the tracks? At times, Daegal realised, they looked almost human – walking along on two legs, one dragging painfully behind, causing the other to take short, staggered steps. At others, it looked as though whatever – whoever – it had been, had dropped to his hands and knees and crawled.

The dogs clustered momentarily around a spot several yards ahead, raising their heads and sniffing the frozen air. Then they moved off with slow purpose, noses and tails low to the ground. Daegal frowned as he clumped through the snow after them.

They led him through the lowlands for a mile or more. Towards the end, spots of frozen blood began to show through the fresh snow, revealed by the dogs' pawprints. Daegal began to feel nervous foreboding lining the pit of his stomach.

The dogs followed the trail past a rocky outcrop, skirting the edge of a frozen lake. In the middle of the field beyond, a dark figure sprawled, unmoving, surrounded by red-stained snow.

The dogs sprinted the rest of the way, barking at the top of their lungs. A family of foxes who had been gathered around the figure scattered, streaking away across the snow. The dogs split up, baying madly as they chased the foxes away. The mysterious bloodstained figure was left to Daegal to investigate.

It was a man, and he was dead. There was no doubt about that; Daegal had never seen a man whose belly looked like _that_ survive to tell the tale. Covering his mouth with one hand, the trapper gingerly swept some of the snow away, revealing a ripped and torn winter jacket, of the same sort that Daegal himself wore. The man had been blonde, with high cheekbones and a scraggly moustache. His sightless eyes were bright blue, and heavily slanted. This was a Bear Islander, a fellow countryman, maybe even kin to Daegal.

Daegal gently closed the man's eyes, feeling vaguely nauseous. The body bore signs of confinement – dark bruises, new scars around the neck and wrists. The winter jacket was the only thing the man wore, and where it didn't cover his bruised and broken legs, there were so many cuts and slashes it was difficult to see where he had any skin left.

The dogs returned in a rush, barking excitedly. Daegal turned to them, glad to have something else to concentrate on. One-Eye grinned and panted at him, drooling happily as the rest of the pack crowded around.

He'd have to report this to the sheriff back on Goose Island. Dead men with the marks of torture did not turn up for no reason at all.

Pushing himself to his feet, Daegal heaved a worried sigh. "Better get back to work," he told the dogs, taking hold of his whistle once again. "Got a couple of traps left."

The dogs whuffed understandingly. Daegal trudged away from the corpse, and blew his whistle. One-Eye loped off, followed quickly by the rest of the pack.

Dead men would have to wait. For now, Daegal and his dogs had a living to make.

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><p><em><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1833_

**P.S: Constructive criticism is welcomed here! **


	2. Sunshine In A Bag

FINISHED! Again…

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><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_-Chapter One: Sunshine In A Bag_

_: : : : : : : _

I woke up slowly, cautiously.

Hearing was the first sense I regained; as I floated, bodiless, in the black mist halfway in, halfway out of my own mind, sounds – voices – filtered through to me. There was the babble of background speakers, overlaid by the wailing of a young baby and a donkey's strident bray. I heard a woman murmuring, loud or close enough that I could pick out individual words:

"…_looks fine… just… appeared out of nowhere. I… Fruit, maybe?"_

A young voice answered her, loud and chirpy._ "She looks weird. Not from anywhere around here!"_

Feeling returned to my body in a rush. I couldn't help groaning, automatically trying to shift my limbs to a more comfortable position. My entire body felt like it had been tenderised; one arm was trapped beneath my back, the wrist bent at a painful angle. My mouth was full of sand and grit, my eyelids were gummed together with the stuff. Sun and wicked heat beat down with the force of a hammer. Despite the fresh wind that steadily blew over me, it was enough to make me gasp and choke on the dust drifting in the air.

Extracting my arm from underneath myself, I scrubbed at my eyes, cracking them open just enough to stare out at the world. It was bright, almost too bright – I had to squint through watery eyes to see anything at all, and even then the best I could see was a few vague blobs. I could smell though, even through the dust in the air. Blood, offal and charcoal have unique odours of their own, and in this place, they were all around me.

"_Hello? Excuse me?" _One of the amorphous blobs made a vague waving motion towards me. _"Can you understand me?"_

I blinked furiously, shading my eyes and peering at it. The words sounded distant, and they took a while to sink through the muzz of distance between my ears and my brain. I stared blankly for a moment, and managed a strangled reply. "Yes?"

My voice sounded absolutely horrible – raspy, painful and weak. My throat felt worse; my breath kept catching in it, sending me into fits of manic coughing.

The blob with the woman's voice paused, and then a cool, dainty hand touched my cheek.

"Damini, go fetch a pitcher of water."

The voices were getting clearer. Another of the blobs rose amid a rustle of fabric, disappearing from my field of vision in a few steps. Still coughing, I tried to push myself up on my elbows to get a better look at my surroundings, but a pair of firm hands on my shoulders stopped me.

"No, don't do that yet. Stay down, and rest – you look like you need it."

"Who are you?" I croaked, obediently settling back on the ground. It felt like cobblestones under my back, pitted with age and worn down to an almost completely smooth surface. There was dust and gravel too, and more of the dry warmth that pervaded everything about this place… wherever it was.

"Where am I?" I asked, scrubbing my still watering eyes with the back of my hand.

The woman gave a quiet, good-natured chuckle. "I am Lorna daughter of Tulsa, a lawyer of the Republic of Carolinge. Rest assured I have no intention to harm you, and neither do my companions here."

_Good to hear,_ I thought dreamily, though the words didn't really sink in. There must have been a part of my mind that was processing these things, and reacting to each new piece of information, but it was far back, hidden beneath layers of an apathetic calm.

"This is Tusanto, the capital city of the Carolingen nation," the woman – ah yes, Lorna – continued. "More accurately, we are sitting in Butcher's Lane, part of the old weaver's city within Tusanto. Now, if you don't mind me asking a question of my own… ah, who are you? Where exactly did you come from?"

I automatically opened my mouth, only to find I had nothing to say. Perplexed, I looked down at myself. My vision still hadn't cleared; my body was just a few blobs of colour arranged in a vaguely recognisable shape. I closed my eyes, staring into the glowing redness behind my eyelids. The sunlight was even invading my head, chasing away the remnants of the darkness in my sleep.

The darkness… now that I missed. The light revealed nothing to me.

"I…" I paused, and opened my eyes again. Past the calmness which enveloped me, something was trembling. I shrugged, helplessly. "I don't know."

Lorna made a small, sympathetic noise. "It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing that's happened today. Do you remember anything else about you? Sometimes talking helps to bring the memories back after a shock."

I frowned, and cast about for something else. My mind was as fuzzy as my sight, swimming in the ocean after a storm had churned up the seabed. Things flickered past in the murk, like fish shoaling, shimmering and twisting out of reach of my questing thoughts.

Wait… fish.

"I remember fish," I said, and the instant I said the word, and image popped into my mind- brilliant silver fish, each as long as my forearm, flopping about in a net as they were hauled aboard a boat of some kind. I counted seventeen of them, and a greenish, duller fish, fatter and longer than the others.

"Seventeen trevally an' a kahawai. Fish."

"A good thing to remember," one of the women said, chuckling. I glanced at her, and then decided she meant no insult. Was it even an insult?

"Auntie Aya, now is not the time," Lorna said, scowling over her shoulder at the woman, "not in public, at least."

"Then when is?" The woman called Aya grinned, crow's feet around her eyes deepening with mirth. "By the looks of her, fish-girl here could probably do with a good laugh. You lot, on the other hand, really should be used to me by now!"

_Do I want to know?_ I thought, bracing my weight on my elbows and pushing myself upright. This time, no-one stopped me. My head whirled a bit, but settled quickly; the world swam in front of me, fuzzy but slowly becoming clearer. I blinked, and the shape of the woman who had been speaking to me gradually sharpened.

No wonder I hadn't been able to see her clearly before. What little of her skin I could see was dark, so dark it was closer to black than brown. She wore a dark green wrap around her head and shoulders, fringed with silver tassels, over a midnight-blue robe which flowed like water, liquid over the rest of her body. I could hear jewelry clink as she shifted her position, but couldn't see any of it through the blur remaining in my sight. Against the sheer strength of the sunlight, she seemed to be made up entirely of shades of black.

There were more women like her; five, six of them sitting arranged around me as though they were audience to an unusually interesting bit of street theatre. Some were dressed in equally dark outfits, where others wore bright yellow, green, red, and gold – colours that glowed worse than the sun.

"Well, whatever you say, it's a good place to start," Lorna rolled her eyes, and turned back to me, putting on an encouraging smile. "There is one thing we can tell you. You're definitely not from around here. Your skin is whiter than the sand underneath the harbour."

I looked down at my hands. She was right- they were much paler than any of the women around me.

"And your eyes!" A girl sitting on my other side spoke up, her eyes shining with excitement. "They're blue! I've never seen anyone with blue eyes before!"

"That's because you never go down to the port," another girl sighed. "Plenty of the sailors have blue eyes. Hey… Maybe she's a sailor, and that's why she knows about fish."

"Most sailors are more bothered about their boats than the fish underneath them. Particularly the sort of sailors we get here." That was the oldest of the women, I guessed, going by the numerous grey and white streaks sweeping through her loose black hair. She was industriously combing it with her fingers, teasing out knots with the patience born of having done the same task innumerable times. The very ends of it trailed on the grounds, collecting dust.

"True. Pirates aren't the type to do a good day's work at the nets, are they, hm?" This woman was swathed head to toe in bright blue silk, her garments embroidered with hundreds upon hundreds of delicate patterns. She hummed a jaunty tune, glancing up at the sky, before she smiled at me and added, "Though there are, of course, exceptions to the rule."

Whatever reaction I had to that was interrupted by the patter of sandaled feet. A new girl skidded to a halt beside Lorna, her arms wrapped tightly around a large white gourd, a smaller, glass jar, full of white gloop, hanging from a short string wrapped around her wrist. She was as dark as the others, probably teenaged, wearing a set of bright scarlet and orange robes which contrasted impressively with the colour of her skin.

"I'm sorry it took so long, Lorna!" she apologised breathlessly, handing both gourd and jar to the woman. "I couldn't find the pitchers, someone must have shifted them."

"It is no great matter," Lorna smiled reassuringly, tugging a cork out of the gourd and offering it to me. "Drink, fish-girl, before you dehydrate completely."

I took the gourd, hesitantly eyeing the darkness inside. Then, over the dust and animal musk in the air, I suddenly caught a hint of a clear, sharp tang.

_Water._

Something took over me then, something desperate and animalistic. I grabbed the gourd with both hands, put my mouth to the opening, and upended it, greedily gulping down as much water as I possibly could at once. The cool, fresh liquid overflowed, cascading down my chin and over my chest, but it felt so good, so refreshing, I didn't want to stop. Choking on the overload, I reluctantly stopped drinking long enough to catch some of the water in my palm and splash it over my head.

"I have never seen anyone drink like that," the girl in scarlet commented, her black eyes wide and plainly impressed.

I paused, staring at her, my hand idly playing with the ponytail I'd just discovered at the back of my head. "Obviously you've never been desperate then."

Interesting- my speech sounded somehow different from the other women, though we were speaking the same language. Their speech was crisp and educated, each word enunciated perfectly. My words seemed to be missing consonants in places, the vowels dragged out longer. It sounded almost vulgar next to the ladies' perfect speech.

The girl grinned, her teeth shockingly white in the middle of her midnight face. "I see your point."

Shrugging, I took another long draught from the gourd – much less frenzied this time. The water was wonderful; it filled a hole inside me that I hadn't known was there.

Shading my eyes again, I stared up past the women, past the jettied roofs on the houses lining the street, to an unbelievably blue afternoon sky. As soon as I thought of one thing, it was gone forever, replaced by… something else, something nameless. There was too much there; it was giving me a headache.

The street beyond my little corner of the world was a welcome distraction. Well, to be honest, I barely recognised it as a street – more like a narrow lane, lined on one side with stalls packed tight, and on the other with tents and uncovered pens, stucco and mud brick houses rising to two or three stories high behind them. The stall shelves were packed with goods; I could smell spices, meat- both raw and cooked – and the tang of metal goods, jewelry, pots, knives, and more. Masses of brightly-dressed people wandered along the lane, dogs and children weaving around their legs as they chased after each other, yelling with delight. There was a grey lump a few houses away which might have been the back end of the donkey I'd heard earlier – and as I watched, the braying started up again, clearly audible even over the ruckus of the humanity in the lane.

I was lying in a small alcove off the main street, which explained why no-one had stepped on me yet, at least.

While I'd been focused elsewhere, the women had held a quiet conference. As I shook my head, returning my attention to them, it began to break up, several of the figures on the edge of the group drifting away into the lane.

Lorna the designated spokeswoman turned back to me, her eyebrows cocked in innocent curiosity. "Do you remember having a place to go back to?"

I shook my head, realising as I did so that in order to meet my eyes, Lorna had to tilt her head upwards just slightly. "Why?"

"Because it's getting late, and the port curfew will be active soon," she patiently explained. "After four in the afternoon no-one bar certain city officials may enter or leave the port district. The time is currently three-fifteen – so, forty-five minutes left."

"I see." I nodded slowly, idly tapping my fingers against my forearm. "I don't think so. I don't remember."

"Then you must stay with me." Lorna smiled, clasping her hands. "There are plenty of spare rooms in the old house; you would be spoilt for choice and space. What is more, I have a few friends in low places, who might well see their way towards helping out a girl in need."

"Your clients?" the girl in scarlet interrupted, leaning forward with an interested smile on her lips. "Oh, of course, the fishermen!"

"Sailors, travellers, other vagrants. It's as good a place to start as any." Lorna pushed herself to her feet, bracing her hands against her lower back and pulling a face. Her sleek robes draped over a very pregnant belly. "Come with me, fish girl – we can't keep calling you that, can we? Let's see if my little house is to your liking."

Lorna's house was a three-storeyed mud-brick monster, rising up behind the row of tents which lined the lane on the sunny side. The entrance was set deep into the wall, between a fortune teller and a spice vendor. Lorna pushed her way between the tents, watched by the beady-eyed spice vendor and followed by myself, Auntie Aya and the girl in the scarlet robes.

Inside, it was strangely light. I looked up, and realised that entrance hall stretched all the way up to the roof. A set of stairs climbed the wall to a pair of landings, one for each of the upper floors. There were no solid doors, just delicately embroidered curtains stretching across the arched doorways. A pleasant breeze circled through the entire house, stirring the leaves on the plants that adorned every spare flat surface.

There was a flicker in the back of my mind, one of my silver fish dodging in and out of my consciousness. I blinked, and abruptly registered that Lorna was talking again.

"…my children will be back soon, so I think it's best if we have you settled by then. You don't know how boisterous they can be, really. You have the pick of the top floor rooms. Now, I have to cook, so Damini, will you show her around?"

The girl nodded enthusiastically. As soon as Lorna turned away, she grabbed my arm with a strength I would never have guessed her to be capable of, and towed me towards the staircase, Auntie Aya chuckling wickedly in the background.

"Come on, the bedrooms are up here. Now, while we're at it, the kitchen is that way-" she indicated the doorway through which Lorna had just vanished, and Aya was halfway through- "and that's where we all eat. Lorna does our cooking, so it isn't fantastic, but edible. Sort of. Bathroom is that way-" she pointed towards the back of the house-" out the door and up the other end of the yard, because it's not a flush toilet, if you were expecting one. We've got piped water, but no sewage lines yet, alas."

"I don't really know what I was expecting," I answered, "but this seems pretty good to me."

She smiled back at me, scrambling up the last couple of steps to the first landing. She had an odd way of moving; much less graceful than the older women, her skinny arms and legs flailing randomly as she alternately halted, spun, and lurched forward again.

"I'm Damini daughter of Alala," she told me, patiently waiting for me to catch up. "I board with Lorna too. She's an old friend of my mother's, so I don't have to pay rent." As I made it up to the landing, she waved an arm along the balcony, gesturing at the row of doorways.

"Now, the curtains on the doors are colour-coded for easy recollection. Our storeroom has the green, then the children's bedroom has purple, then mine on the end with the red curtain. There's nothing upstairs though, so you get one of those rooms for now."

I stared past her, up the stairs to the first room. The curtain on the door was a lovely sea-blue, with some sort of design stitched in white onto it.

"It's yours if you want it," Damini said. She waited for me to make the first move. I did, more out of curiosity than anything else.

It was a blank, spartan room. One set of drawers, one narrow bed, and an open window giving a view out across the city, down to an almost perfectly circular bay in which dozens of dark shapes – ships, I realised – sat heavily on the shining blue sea. I shook my head, marvelling at the sheer amount of sails, and leaned on the windowsill, studying the shape of the city.

From Lorna's house, Tusanto sloped downwards quite heavily, spreading across a hillside and down across a small area of flat land before it reached the shore of the bay. There was a massive old wall surrounding part of the city that occupied the flat land, and within that section stood a massive white tower, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.

What drew my attention more was the horizon, where blue sky met blue sea far off in the distance, and curved around as far in either direction as I could see.

It sang to me. I felt it almost as a physical pull – one that I _had_to obey, not through any outside threat, but because my own consciousness bade me go to it.

Feeling slightly sick, I turned away from the window, and gazed dumbly down at the bed. It was narrow, and the mattress was lumpy, covered only in a couple of thin cotton sheets, but all of a sudden I'd never seen such an appealing sight. I sat down on it, then lay down, stretching out until I was wholly comfortable.

"I take it you like it?" Damini stepped in past the door-curtain, smiling expectantly. I nodded wordlessly, pushing myself upright again. The movement took a lot more effort than I had expected.

"You look tired," Damini commented, continuing across the room to the windowsill. "Your eyes have some of the deepest dark circles underneath them that I've ever seen, and considering I regularly interact with philosophers with more drive to learn than common sense, that's saying something. You look as if you haven't slept for a week."

"I feel like it," I replied, scrubbing the back of my hand over my eyes. "And it hasn't even been half an hour since I woke up."

"Oh, you can't treat unconsciousness as a true sleep," Damini refuted, shaking her head. She leaned out of the window, fiddling with something on the outside wall. "I'm not sure what the difference is, being as I haven't ever studied medicine, but I do know that being knocked unconscious doesn't restore your body's natural energy like true sleep does." She straightened, closing a wooden shutter over half the window opening. "If you want to sleep, I can close these, but the air in here tends to get quite hot so I wouldn't recommend it."

I shook my head, all but collapsing back onto the bed. Suddenly closing my eyes seemed like the best possible course of action, so I did so. "Then don't. The breeze is nice."

"Very well," Damini's voice began to sound distant. "We'll let you wake in your own time. It can't be nice, staying awake when you feel that bad."

It wasn't, so I didn't. I heard Damini's footsteps leave the room, and then, in between fitful sleeps filled with shapeless dreams, not a whole lot else.

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><p>I slept for almost an entire day, waking amid the pink glow of a late sunset.<p>

I opened my eyes, and for the longest moment I couldn't remember how I'd ended up there. I stared up the plastered ceiling, shadows growing deeper as the sunlight faded, and it was as though I'd never seen it before.

That terrifying moment passed, however. Memory came flooding back – what little of it I had. I remembered Lorna, and Damini, the darkness before I'd opened my eyes, and the feeling of the cobblestones underneath my back as I'd lain in the street outside. Regarding how I'd come to be there, or what I'd been doing before then… there was nothing.

Today, there was a soft mattress and cool sheets underneath me. "Any improvement is a good thing, right?" I mumbled to myself, propping myself up on my elbows and looking around the room. It looked much the same as it had when I'd arrived, although there was a stack of clothes sitting on the low table beside my bed.

There was a note on top of the stack. I sat up, grabbing it and studying the neat handwriting.

_I noticed your clothes have seen better days, so if you would prefer to, you may wear these. Unfortunately I couldn't find anything of better quality that would fit you, but I hope these will suffice for now._

_-Lorna _

I looked down at myself. Currently I was wearing a pair of torn, stained, dusty shorts, a loose blue jacket and a baggy pink t-shirt, also in a dire condition. I shrugged out of the jacket, and found a huge, charred hole torn through the back of it. Investigation revealed a similar, though smaller, hole through the back of my shirt, in about the same place. Idly wondering what had made it, I pulled the t-shirt off as well, and pulled the pile of clothes closer.

The first thing I picked up turned out to be a pair of shorts, slightly tighter than the ones I was wearing, and in much better shape. It was followed by a loose wraparound jacket, bright green and heavily embroidered, which almost reached my knees when I put it on. Both felt a lot lighter than the clothes I'd discarded.

Standing, I gathered my old clothes and put them on the table, suddenly feeling more awake and alert. The sunset had all but completely faded, so I crossed to the window, and looked out.

It was a cloudy evening, though the night sky and a few early stars could still be seen through the odd gap in the clouds. Down in the city, thousands of lights shone, and out on the harbour, the ships at anchor were lighting up as the crews lit their own lamps. Several smaller boats sailed steadily back to their berths from the harbour mouth – _fishing boats_, my brain supplied, from where I didn't know.

The western horizon was still glowing, pink and pale purple-grey. I watched the last flush of gold disappear, feeling a stab of urgency run through my veins. That was where I suddenly wanted to be; out there with the sunset, on the other side of the horizon.

There was a sudden noise behind me. I started nervously, pulling my head back inside the room and whirling to face the intruder.

It was just the girl, Damini, standing there and smiling a welcoming smile.

"I thought I heard noises, so I came up to check," she explained, giving a little embarrassed shrug. "It's good to see you're up. You must have been exhausted."

"I was," I said, relaxing somewhat. Damini nodded, walking over to the table and picking up my old clothes. A scrap of blue cloth fluttered to the floor, its last tenuous tie to the rest of my jacket broken.

"I'm thinking these are most likely beyond help," Damini said, straight-faced. She looked at me, earnestly meeting my gaze – and then burst into a fit of giggles. I grinned, and couldn't hold back a chuckle or two myself.

"I mean, Hala might be able to repair them, if that's what you want, but personally I doubt it," Damini continued as her giggles subsided, still grinning. "Do you want to keep them?"

I lazily shook my head. "Not particularly. These new clothes feel much better. Smell better too, come to think of it."

"Good. I know just the place to put them – the incinerator." Damini continued across the room to stand beside me at the window. "The weather has cooled down nicely out there. Earlier it was stinking hot. Were you cool enough up here?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, leaning back against the window frame. "I slept well enough, or at least I feel like I did."

"True," Damini smiled, covering her mouth with her sleeve, her black eyes glittering with good humour. "No luck with remembering anything more?"

I shook my head again, the smile on my lips fading as I thought. "No, no new memories. Not yet, anyway."

Damini hummed sympathetically, fiddling with the catch on the second shutter. "No memories, not even a name? That must be confusing." She paused for a moment, frowning imperceptibly at the latch. "Although… we could give you a new name, if you wanted? Names are important. In all the stories they're what make you what you are."

"Makes sense, I guess." I shrugged, at a loss for what to do. "Maybe, if you think it'd be a good idea."

"Let's just say I don't think it'd be a bad idea, shall we?" Damini smiled up at me, pushing the second shutter open to let in more of the cool night air. "Besides which, you need a better name than 'fish-girl', right?"

"Right," I laughed, a little shakily. "Then how should I choose one?"

Damini thought for a moment. "I know a fair few names. I could run through my list, and if you hear one you like the sound of, tell me."

"Sounds good." I nodded, watching a pair of piglets romp around a pen in the street below. Night hadn't made the street market any less popular – if anything, there were more people down there now than there had been in the sun yesterday.

"Well… Shula, Mohali, Mara and Kirmi are some of my favourites," Damini began, looking pensive. "Kumari, Liron and Lysandra too, and Gale." She looked up at me as if to ask what I thought. I didn't have to think, I just shook my head.

"No? Arethusa, Asenka, Aki? Kaziki, Lonnai?"

With each new word, I began to feel more and more as if this had been a mistake. Damini listed a dozen, two dozen more names, and none felt right to me.

Then she said something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"What about Loki?"

I stared down at the lamps in the street, hardly daring to breathe. Memories flickered in the back of my mind, stirred up by that one word. They faded rapidly, but I stubbornly held onto the word, unwilling to let it just go back into obscurity. "Loki," I whispered, and something about it sank right down into my bones.

"Loki?" Damini asked, a small, hopeful smile on her lips. I blinked, and looked back at her.

"It feels like it fits." I said, shrugging. "I don't know how or why, but it fits."

"Then that is what we shall call you," Damini said decisively, clapping her hands in delight. "Loki!"

* * *

><p>I stayed in the big house in Tusanto for nearly a week. It took me almost as long to get used to the routine Lorna kept.<p>

The house played host to six people: Damini, Lorna herself, Auntie Aya, Aya's husband, and Lorna's two daughters. Truly it was seven, but I was told Lorna's own husband was out on a fishing boat somewhere, and I never met him.

Damini became my near-constant companion during those days. I learned more about her own past than I did mine. She led me back and forth across the city, down to the port, up to the ancient white palace where, she said, Tusanto's kings had once lived, and further afield, to the great College on the outskirts of the city. Carolinge was an old kingdom, and Damini seemed to know anything I could have wanted to know about it.

It was always what was beyond the horizon which demanded my attention the most, though. Damini smiled when I told her this, and spent an afternoon teaching me about the wider world.

Large and small details alike burned themselves into my memories – the string of bright flags across the porch of what Damini told me was a temple, the smells of salt and smoke and assorted humanity hanging heavy in the air, the bright azure hue of the sky and the wispy, translucent clouds within it. Carolinge's heat and ever-present dust coloured my recollections, with the splendid gold and purple hues of the sun setting over the waves as a permanent reminder of what I seemed to be missing.

I still couldn't remember anything from before my arrival in the street outside Lorna's house. And these days, the little fish of my memories came less and less.

On the seventh day, Damini dragged me down to the port a second time. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and the sun beat down hotter than any day I'd experienced yet. I followed without complaint, though sunburn on my face and forearms reminded me of just what tended to happen on days like this.

"Why the rush?" I asked when Damini's pace sped up from a brisk walk to a near-run. "It's just on noon, and we've got all afternoon."

"I heard a rumour that one of the Marines' Admirals is due to arrive sometime around one o'clock," she explained, flashing me an impish grin and looking away almost as quickly. "I wanted to see him arrive, and I thought you might like to see him as well."

"Which one?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"Aokiji," Damini supplied. "The blue pheasant, in the ancient language I told you about, Yamato. You know, I never understood why the World Government adopted Yamato for formalities, when their main language was so much different. Even seven hundred years ago, Mariejois was already dominant amongst the World Government member-states."

I shrugged, my way of letting her know I hadn't understood a word of what she'd said. Damini was a College student, and often came out with bits and pieces of esoteric information that confused any layman, even one not burdened with my sort of amnesia.

"I'm sorry," Damini said, grimacing. "I couldn't help it. Just ignore it, it doesn't have anything to do with this. What was I saying?"

"Something about Aokiji," I supplied. "All I know about the Admirals is that there are three of them, and they're named after animals."

"Splendid," Damini grinned, her good humour restored. "Aokiji, Akainu, Kizaru. Blue pheasant, red dog, yellow monkey. Rather strange, as titles go. I guess you could call them the Marines' highest operatives, as the Fleet Admiral, their immediate superior, only rarely leaves Marineford headquarters. They're also the ones who deal with those who violate the Tenryuubito Laws – in person."

Damini had told me about the Tenryuubito Laws a few days ago, during a morning where we had seen an entire street full of people prostrate themselves before a lone woman wearing a glass dome on her head. It had seemed silly to me, until Damini had dragged me away down an alley, almost gibbering with fear. There had been an escort of Marines with the Tenryuubito, lingering a few paces behind her. It had been the woman's own force of personality, almost cultlike, which forced the people in the crowd to their knees.

"Anything else?" I said, knowing there was. There always was, with Damini.

"Well there is, actually." And she stopped, and looked up at me. "Have I told you about Devil Fruits yet?"

"About what?" I frowned, turning to gaze back at her. It was a familiar term, but only as far as I might have heard it on the street somewhere.

She smiled, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her scarlet robes. "I see I haven't. It's an unpardonable oversight, and I shall rectify that herewith."

"Right. So what are they?" I said as we passed under the gates to the port district, surrounded on all sides by a steady stream of people, both Carolingen and foreigners.

The district itself was just as full of activity, people packing the streets as they hurried between the workshops and the docks. The buildings, tightly-packed, intersected by dozens of tiny alleyways, were connected by walkways and cables ties between the upper floors, with flags, clothes being washed, and even birdcages hanging from these flimsy supports. As much of the district was built on stilts in the shallows of the harbour as on dry land. In the wooden streets above the water, the faint lapping of waves against the supports could be heard underneath the noise of people and the seagulls wheeling in the sky above.

Like everywhere else in the city, small stalls lined the streets, selling all manner of wares; down here, the predominant theme was maritime bits and pieces, and seafood. Damini bought me a fried oyster, almost as big as my hand, which kept me occupied for the next few minutes while she talked.

"Devil Fruits are specific fruits, grown on rare trees in half a dozen islands the world over, which, when eaten, give the consumer certain almost magical powers, but at the cost of never being able to swim again. Water hates the Devil Fruits, you see. There's something in it, particularly in seawater, which seals their powers. Still, some of the powers the Fruits give are quite incredible."

"Like what?" I asked through a mouthful of my oyster. Damini grimaced at that, and averted her eyes.

"Example time, then." She tipped her head back, gazing pensively at the sky. "Aokiji has the Hie-Hie no Mi-"

"The what?" I interrupted, sure I hadn't heard that correctly. Damini grinned, still watching the sky.

"The Hie-Hie no Mi. Devil Fruits' names are strange – they always come from the ancient language rather than our modern one. I was never good at languages, but 'Hie' means something like 'ice' in the ancient language, and 'no Mi' translates loosely to 'the fruit of'. So, the Hie-Hie no Mi, is 'the fruit of ice'. It gives Admiral Aokiji the power to create, manipulate, and physically become ice. We class it as a Logia, an elemental-type power. Of the three classes, Logias are the rarest, and some of the most flashy and powerful. I believe the other Admirals also have Logia powers."

"Classes?" I barely had to prompt Damini on this; she had plenty of information to relay to me.

"Three classes, one with two sub-classes. Logia powers, then Zoan powers, which allow their user to transform wholly or partly into an animal. The Zoan class also has two sub-classes: Ancient Zoans, which are extinct animals, and Mythical Zoans, which are animals that only ever existed in myth. Normal Zoans are relatively common as Devil Fruits go; Ancient Zoans are almost as rare as Logias, and Mythical Zoans are the absolute rarest.

"Then you have the Paramecia class, which basically comprises of every power left over from the other two. They're the most common, and also the most varied." She skirted the base of a huge stone tower, walking purposefully into a shadowed alley at the base of it, and clambering nimbly up a pile of rubbish and onto a ledge cut into the tower. "Okay, up here, Loki. Follow me to the best views in Tusanto."

I pulled myself up after her, listening to her continuing chatter.

"For a Paramecia example, Whitebeard's Fruit is probably the best. He has the Gura-Gura no Mi. 'Gura' is the sound of earthquakes in the ancient language, so correspondingly the Gura-Gura no Mi allows him to create earthquakes. It's theoretically powerful enough to destroy the worlds, which is a distinction I've never seen used for any other Devil Fruit before, even some of the most powerful Logias." She laughed, and turned back to me, her expression suddenly seeing older and wiser than I'd given her credit for. "Then again, that's how the world works, isn't it?"

The ledge widened at the end, leading into an internal corridor. Damini led me along it, grinning mischievously now her moment of wisdom had passed. "Anyway, the reason I brought you up here is because it's Aokiji, not Kizaru or Akainu, who is arriving here today. The other two travel on warships, but Aokiji occasionally turns up on his own. If there was one Devil Fruit I'd consider eating, it'd be the Hie-Hie no Mi. It's like the sea doesn't even exist for him."

"What do you mean?" The corridor turned into a spiralling staircase, ceiling so low I had to avoid knocking my head on it. The back of Damini's trailing scarlet robes disappeared up the steps in front of me.

"Well, you'll see when we get where we're going. This is one of the oldest buildings in Tusanto, the king watchtower. Once upon a time it was the Guardian hub, but these days it's officially disused. Everyone and their mother knows at least half a dozen different ways to get into it though, so no-one cares if you flout the law a little bit." Giggling to herself, Damini pushed open a wooden door at the top of the staircase, and a warm breeze raced into the tower. She led the way out onto a broad walkway, fenced with battlements, which looked out above the roofs of the surrounding buildings.

I followed her along the walkway, catching glimpses of the harbour between the taller buildings in the port. The water itself wasn't very far away, perhaps half a dozen blocks. The seagulls screaming in the air above the city couldn't quite drown out the murmur of the crowds below.

At the end of the walkway, there was another set of stairs, leading up and around the outside of the tower. Damini raced up to the landing, turning to wait expectantly for me. I was reminded of the first time she'd led me into Lorna's house; she'd done exactly the same thing there.

"Come on, there's only a few stairways left. And up the top, you can see_ everything_."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I reassured her, starting up the steps. Climbing stairs was nothing new to me; it was just that I'd never climbed so many in one go.

She was right though, I realised as I arrived at the top of the stairs. Damini leaned over the battlements, unable to go any higher. A cool sea breeze tugged at her robes, setting the loose ends aflutter. She blazed in the sunlight, her skin and hair inky black against the bright blues of the sea and sky, her robes almost glowing shades of red and orange.

The watchtower must have been the highest point for miles around. Tusanto sat in the middle of a vast bowl, the harbour occupying the lower half while the city itself sprawled over the flat land behind the port, reaching up onto the surrounding hills. The blocky white Palace, the home of Carolinge's Parliament, sat on the nearest hillside a couple of miles to the south, while the College, made of the same white stone, occupied a lower hill on the northern side of the harbour. The gap which led from harbour to open ocean gleamed, pale with more than just reflected sunlight.

"Look," Damini breathed, nodding towards the harbour entrance. "I think that's it."

"What is it?" I asked, frowning, unable to figure out what the growing white mass was. Damini shook her head, absorbed in the spectacle.

"Ice," she murmured. "It's ice. Aokiji can turn the surface of the ocean to ice for a short while."

I watched in silence as the ice spread across the water, a pale finger stretching towards the Marines' dock on the southern side of the district. There was a dark shape, barely large enough to be seen at this distance, moving slowly across the surface of the frozen waves.

"They say he has a bicycle that he rides across the ocean," Damini said softly, grinning in open awe. "Light and molten rock are all well and good, but he's the only Devil Fruit user I've heard of who can navigate the world's oceans without the use of a ship."

"Wow," I agreed, simply, but profoundly. That sort of freedom – well… I wanted it.

A faint crack split the air, fading rapidly but soon followed by another one. Then more; the ice was breaking up behind the admiral. But he'd reached the safety of the dock by now, and I lost sight of him in amongst the Marine vessels berthed there.

"That's what I wanted to see," Damini said, leaning on the battlements with a satisfied look in her charcoal eyes. "I think I was ten, the last time an Admiral ventured all the way out here. That would have been six, close to seven years ago now. When they come to the New World, they usually stay near Chaeronea or their G1 base."

"Then you're… sixteen?" I said lightly, latching onto the only fact I understood in that sentence. Damini shot me a coy look.

"Closer to seventeen, actually. By rights I should still have a year of study left up at the College, but I skipped a grade a few years back. So I'm free as a bird now!" Her mood dropped, as quickly as it had risen. "Only thing is, now I have no idea what to do with it."

"Well, what do you want to do with it?" I said, drifting back to the stairs. Damini followed me, frowning faintly.

"Honestly? I don't know. My options are either to go back to my family, submit to my father's demands to find a husband, or to stay here and carry on in the College. I'd hate being an ordinary housewife, but becoming a professor or a politician doesn't appeal to me either. I studied meteorology and geography; political science just bores me." She paused at the top of the stairs, and I stopped halfway down, turning to look at her. There was something her voice I recognised, which in itself was a rare enough occurrence that it was worth noting.

_She feels trapped,_ I realised. _There's something she feels is out there for her, just over the horizon._

"It's just... I'm sure there's more! I want to travel, go around the world. See all sorts of new things. Here in Carolinge, we're a summer island. I've never seen snow, never seen ice before today. Even rain is rare. If it weren't for the aquifers, half of the island would be an inhospitable desert." She shrugged helplessly, gazing out across the water with longing in her black eyes. "I just want to start walking someday, and never stop."

"You wouldn't go far," I began, and she looked sharply at me, lips immediately forming an objection. "Water all around," I clarified hurriedly, gesturing loosely towards the ocean. "Can't walk on water."

She stared at me for a long moment, long enough that I wondered whether I was forgiven or not. At last, though, she smiled. "True enough. If that's your sense of humour, I think it might take me a while to get used to it."

I sighed, glancing up at the deepest reaches of the sky. "It was nothing, really – I just said it without thinking, before I realised you might take it differently. I'm sorry."

"No need to be," she said graciously, grinning her impish grin. "You're right, after all. Although there is another reason, other than the one you just mentioned."

"There is?" I waited as she hurried down the steps, then feel into step beside her. She nodded furiously, eyes wide and earnest.

"Pirates. They're everywhere, out on the ocean. Mostly you're safe if you're on land, because the major islands are all part of someone's territory and there's sort of an unspoken code among pirates that you don't attack other people's territory. Especially not if they're more powerful than you are. Out on the ocean though, everything is fair game."

"Are pirates that much of a problem?" I wondered why there were only three Admirals if that was the case.

"Here in the New World they can be." Damini smiled. "The four Blues and the first half of the Grand Line are more dominated by the World Government, but here, it's every man for himself. Not many pirate crews survive for long out here, but the ones that do tend to be very strong. I mentioned Whitebeard earlier? He is the strongest pirate in the world, and one of the oldest. He has claimed Carolinge as his territory, which is actually more of a deterrent to lesser pirates than the World Government."

Despite her harsh words, Damini was grinning. "You don't look as though you disapprove of that much," I commented, feeling a faint smile drift across my lips.

She ducked her head, pressing the cuff of her robe over her face to hide the smile on her lips. "Pirates fascinate me. Whitebeard is one of the better class of pirates, from what I hear told – the ones who are more concerned with adventure and strength than treasure and killing. He's been a major power in the New World for close to forty years, which is incredible, no matter what you think of the man." She looked around furtively, seeming pleased that we were alone. "Please don't tell anyone I said that, though. Most people think that pirates are all scumbags, with no exceptions. I would be ridiculed for admiring Whitebeard. It is a relief to finally be able to tell someone without fear of being punished for it."

"Lorna being a lawyer, would she have punished you?"

Damini stopped smiling. "Yes, and I would have understood had she done so. She sees a lot of the damage pirates do, even when they aren't looting and pillaging defenceless villages. But you, you have a completely open mind now, because you don't have the memories telling you what to think. What is it like?"

I shrugged. "To be honest, I feel completely blank. I can't even remember what it's like to feel some emotions, though I know what they're called and what they should feel like. I'm noticing small things, and I feel like I shouldn't bother with remembering them, but I do anyway. It feels like I'm trying to fill my head up with things- anything I can- because it's scary when it's totally empty like it was when I first woke up. I can't not think about anything."

"Your mind sounds busy," Damini commented, resting her hands in her lap and playing absently with the hem of her robe. "How do you feel about it?"

"Blank, again. Like I just don't care." I gave a frustrated sigh, and tipped my head back, gazing up into the darkening sky. The sun had slid further earthwards in the time that we'd been standing out on the jetty, and the day was now closer to evening than afternoon.

I turned away from the sea, my feet slowly taking me back towards the entrance to the tower stairwell. Damini followed, uncharacteristically quiet.

Sunlight reflected twice, once off the waves in the harbour and once in the tower windows. Past the grime and dust coating the glass, the panorama of the docklands, and past that, the sea, stretched from the bluff on which the palace sat to the hills where, somewhere, Lorna's house was. There was a dark shape blotting out the part of the reflection directly behind me. I stepped back once, and the shadow resolved into a pair of figures. I recognised Damini, a short, slim figure swathed in red and orange, but the tall blonde woman beside her I had never seen before.

A strange thing happened then. Instinctually, perhaps, I looked into the blonde woman's eyes. Unblinking, she stared back at me, breathing calmly. Her green jacket fluttered in the breeze, lending a semblance of life and movement to the delicate birds embroidered on her sleeves.

Her eyes widened at the same time as my own did. She was me.

She- _I_ was tall; Damini's eyes would have been about level with my collarbones. My hair- rich shades of sunstreaked gold and wheat- just brushed the tops of my shoulders in its ponytail. Shorter locks hung loose around my face, framing a broad, high forehead and big, slanted eyes. A slightly square, solid jaw meant I wasn't, and would never be elegant like so many of the Carolingen women I'd seen, while strong cheekbones and heavy eyelids gave me a sharp, piercing gaze. My eyes were slanted, narrower and much more angular than Damini's, and though I couldn't tell their exact colour, they looked like they might have been blue.

I looked down at myself; saw broad shoulders and strong limbs, coupled with a natural fighter's stance- feet planted solidly, a little over shoulder-width apart, arms loosely held at my sides. The Carolingen robes swathing my figure fluttered in the breeze, the afternoon sunlight setting the bronze edging ablaze.

Cocking my head to the side a little, I studied how my reflection mimicked the movements, focusing and memorising each and every feature. _This is me,_ I thought, and at last I had a face to put to the name – _Loki._

Loki meant this blonde hair, these slanted blue eyes, and a sharp, scrutinising gaze, letting no small detail past without being inspected, judged, and remembered.

I wouldn't forget again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Word Count: <strong>8507_

That scene with Aokiji is one that never made it into the first version despite the fact that it was one of the first scenes I dreamed up for this fic. :| Lord knows why I rejected it back in 2010 (can't believe it was already that long ago I started…)

Essentially this is the new version of old chapters 1 and 2. Next chapter, we get into the adventure itself (which is also going to be significantly different from the original version, but on the bright side the chapter after that is a whole different kettle of fish.

Also, I'd like to acknowledge a friend of mine from deviantArt, Eriin84, who once told me something invaluable about fish. That is all. *seriousface*


	3. Haloes Made Of Summer

**Something In The Water**

_-Chapter Two: Haloes Made Of Summer_

Carolinge baked under the heat of a late summer day.

Sun, more white than gold, blazed in a cloudless sky. The orange desert shimmered, dust and heat devils obscuring the distant ground, while the sea glittered lazily, small wavelets breaking up the otherwise flat blue-green expanse. Carolinge's dusty air coated the inside of my mouth.

I was lying on the thin ledge outside my bedroom window, my head in a steadily shrinking patch of shade. My body was baking in the sun, but I had no energy to move. The beautiful blue wraparound jacket I wore was collecting grit in uncomfortable places.

I was alone in the house. Lorna was at work; Aya and the kids had gone down the street to visit friends, and Damini was up at the College, rehearsing for her graduation ceremony. It was my first time being home alone, as Damini had called it. The big house seemed silent and empty… too empty for my tastes. I'd come out to the ledge to listen to the sounds of the street market, and under the heat of the sun I'd slipped into a state halfway between sleep and wakefulness. I could hear the market's noises, the screeches of seagulls and the grinding of cart wheels against the stone cobbles, but it all seemed so far away. Inconsequential.

Fishing, I called it. In the darkness behind my eyes, I could see the flashes of my memories better. New memories far outweighed the old ones these days, as different as birds to fish. Every so often though, I found something old, something I'd forgotten.

Then all too often, I promptly_—again_—forgot whatever it was. In the dark of the night it was enough to drive me to frustrated tears.

Today, there were no fish. I breathed in deep, as slow as possible to avoid inhaling the ever-present dust in the atmosphere, then let it all out in a rush. I opened my eyes, staring up at the sky. There was a tiny wisp of cloud up there, so small I hadn't noticed it at first. It drifted on a high wind, gradually putting out a bloom of white that doubled in size as I watched.

Inside the house, a door slammed.

I shot upright, cracking my forehead against the overhanging roof that had given me my patch of shade. Sharp pains shot through the inside of my skull. Groaning and clutching at my forehead, I scrambled back through the open window into the relative darkness of the house.

There was a clock on the wall, its hands pointing to four-thirty. As I stared at it, uncomprehending, familiar voices drifted up through the stairwell. Lorna and Damini were back.

I sighed again, this time in relief.

Rubbing my fingers absently against my cracked forehead, I slipped past the half-open curtain and out onto the landing. Damini was on her way up the stairs; as she caught sight of me, her face cracked into a broad grin.

"I did it!" she cried jubilantly, brandishing a pair of ornamental, gold-capped scrolls at me. "Diploma in Meteorological Science, Bachelor in Human Geography! I'm finally done!"

"Congratulations," I said, grinning back at her. Damini's happiness was catching. "Your robes didn't trip you up during the ceremony?"

Damini scowled down at the long formal robes she wore. Bronze and dark red silk, embroidered in purple, indigo and silver with an incredibly detailed forest scene, they were the most complex and rich-looking clothes I'd seen her wearing. They were also slightly too big for her, and the hems of both sleeves trailed on the ground beside the skirt.

"They tried to," she snickered. "They nearly succeeded a couple of times, but in the dark, where nobody could see. They're really more your size than mine, but I suppose that's what you get when you rent these things." She grinned at me, continuing carefully up the stairs. "How went your day?"

"It was boring," I said, shrugging expansively. "I nearly fell asleep in the sun upstairs. There was nothing else to do."

Down in the kitchen doorway, Lorna laughed. "You could always have gone for a walk around the neighbourhood. I'm sure the markets would have had something to amuse you."

"Loki doesn't like being alone in a crowd," Damini called down to her before I had even thought of a reply. "Haven't you noticed?"

I blinked in surprise. It was true enough, but I hadn't realised I'd been that obvious about it. I hated the feeling of being overlooked, ignored. I had tried not to go anywhere without Damini, or one of the others – with them, the isolated feeling was easily brushed aside.

I gave my head a little shake to refocuse my thoughts, and realised Damini was watching me with a knowing sparkle in her black eyes. "It's true, isn't it?" she asked in a low tone, pausing on the landing beside me. "I don't blame you; I don't like it much myself, either. It's the feeling of being so inconsequential, for me – like I'm just one of many, and one is next to nothing." She shook her head, pushing back her hood and combing her fingers through the long bangs that hung on either side of her face. "My head hurts. I need to get somewhere cool. How's your room at the moment?"

"As cool as anywhere," I said, shrugging. Damini waited, polite as ever, until I led the way into my bedroom – no matter that it had only been mine for just over a week.

Once we were inside, I gravitated to the window yet again, looking out at the blue horizon. It had become something of a daily ritual, reaffirming that tug I felt whenever I looked out past the harbour, at the open ocean.

Today, the sea was brilliant, sparkling aquamarine. A light breeze kicked up small wavelets, breaking the reflected sunlight up into brilliant facets like a living, moving jewel.

Damini sat down on the little stool that sat beside my bedside table, fastidiously arranging her robes around her legs. "So…" she began, with enough of an edge to her voice that I turned away from the sea entirely. "When are you going?"

"Going where?" I echoed uncertainly, not sure what she was intending me to understand. She smiled at me, resigned and yet conspiratorial.

"I mean, when are you going off to look for… whatever it is that you think you need to find? The thing that is beyond your horizon, the one you were just looking for. You won't find it if you stay here in Carolinge forever, that's for sure."

I frowned at her, something hammering on my thoughts. "You mean…" I wasn't sure I had the vocabulary to put it in words, and clenched my hands, automatically pressing them to my belly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that as far as New World islands go, Carolinge isn't exactly an-" she paused, staring at the ceiling as if she'd find the words printed there- "_interesting_ place. Aside from the College, there isn't much of note here at all. The desert, the jungle on the West Coast, and not much in between. I can't imagine that you want to stay here, not when you keep looking at the ocean with such a needy expression in your eyes."

"Needy, huh?" I chuckled, leaning back to sit on the windowsill. "That's, well, that's one way to describe it. The problem is, I don't know where to start. I need to start somewhere, but where? I don't even know where I _can_ go from here, let alone which way I _should_ go."

Damini considered me for a long moment. "In my professional opinion… you're thinking too much."

"Eh?" I blinked at her, totally nonplussed. "But you're the one who told me just a couple of days ago that you can never do too much thinking."

Damini waved a dismissive hand. "True enough, but you have to intersperse it with some action. Otherwise, you'll get bogged down in thought, like you are now, and you'll never get anywhere. The wisest people I know say there's a time and a place for philosophising, and there's another time and place for action. The purpose of life, according to these same people, is to find the perfect balance between these two options. I don't know if I believe it or not, but if you don't think you'll never get better, and if you don't do anything, you'll never get anywhere."

"Then you're saying that now is the time for action," I surmised. Damini smiled, tugging her braid out of the confines of her hood.

"Probably," she said, unwrapping the leather tie that kept it tight. "I just think that if you're going to do anything, it's best to do it before you get bogged down in ordinary life. The longer you're here, the tighter the ties that bind you to this place are, and the more difficult it will be to break them – especially when this is the only place you've ever known, or so I would guess."

I exhaled, closing my eyes and focusing. My hands were shaking just a little; my heartbeat had sped up, and I didn't know why.

"I… I think you're right," I admitted. My eyes snapped open, an instant before I'd come to my conclusion. "I have to go."

"There you go," Damini said calmly, unwinding her braid. Black hair spilled between her fingers, dark as night. "Now you can start thinking about where, when. If I were you, I'd go within the next couple of weeks. First, so that you find the resolution to go, and secondly, that would give you between a month and six weeks before the pirate season starts. Autumn is the quietest season for pirates; they're all drunk in taverns somewhere, spending all the year's takings."

"Wednesday," I said on the spur of the moment, watching Damini's eyes widen in surprise. "Where would you suggest I go?"

"Lokashiri, if you want to go that soon." She shook her hair out, picking up a thin comb and gently teasing it through. "Three days' walk north along the coast road. It's a major trade hub for this part of the world, and you'd be sure of booking yourself passage on some sort of ship. Marine couriers are probably your best bet; they stop over anywhere and everywhere along their routes."

It was a Sunday today.

"I'll tell Lorna tonight," I decided, hauling my legs up into the window so I could turn and look out over the ocean again. "Um… Damini?"

"Yes?" She paused her combing; I saw her set the comb down and give me an attentive look out the corner of my eye.

"Thanks," I said bluntly. "Thanks for everything."

I hadn't thought I would say it. But it would have just been wrong to leave with them unsaid.

Damini laughed, a little shakily. "Please don't say that, you'll make me cry. I'm just a big crybaby at heart, you know? Besides, I want to ask you a question first."

"What is it?" I looked back at her, curious just because of the way she'd said it. She looked down, frowning intensely at the floorboards.

"I, um… I wanted to ask if it'd be too much trouble if I could come with you." Her words came spilling out now, a tide that left me bewildered. "I mean, I've graduated from the College now; I've completed the only thing that's kept me here for years. I don't have a job to take up, and I can't go back to my family. I can be useful, I can fight a bit, my uncles taught me how! And I don't want you to just walk straight into trouble because you don't have a clue how to avoid it."

She stopped abruptly, and let out a gusty breath. "Besides which, there is still a lot I need to teach you," she added, grinning hopefully up at me. "I'm not going to be able to fit it all in the next couple of days."

The corners of my lips twitched in a small smile. "I don't mind if you do. I'll bet you'll have a job and a half convincing Lorna, though."

Damini's face fell abruptly. "It'll be impossible, actually. Lorna's a homebody at heart. She's never even left Tusanto; she's too scared of what's out there in the big bad world. She hears the horror stories, but doesn't really know anything for sure—which is worse than actually knowing, I think. It's fear of the unknown, you know?"

I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "You never know though. Perhaps she'll surprise you."

Shaking her head slowly, Damini glanced up at me, a determined expression creeping into her eyes. "Perhaps. No matter what, I have to try."

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

Lorna's tone brooked no argument. She glared at Damini, mouth set in a grim line that got tighter and tighter as her young charge showed no signs of backing down. "No," she repeated, setting her fork down and crossing her arms belligerently, "absolutely not. I will not permit you to go and get yourself killed on some teenage whim."

"It's not a whim," Damini insisted, calm yet determined. "I've wanted to travel overseas since I came here, and you know that. This is the perfect opportunity for me to both travel and make some worth for myself, and better yet I'll be helping a friend while I do so."

"I do know that. I also know that the outside world can be a terribly dangerous place. I spend my waking hours helping those it has hurt! You've led a charmed life, Damini, so forgive me if I doubt whether you truly comprehend the forces you'll be risking yourself against."

"When I was a third-year, our World Politics instructor had a prosthetic leg and a glass eye," Damini informed her, a fiery glint in her eye. "He'd lost them when the passenger galleon he was travelling on was attacked by Kaidou's Pirates."

"Knowing the story behind that is not the same as truly understanding it," Lorna said. "You've never known anything but Carolinge; how can you truly understand the rest of the New World?"

"How can _you_?" Damini exclaimed. "I'm not so naïve as to believe that the New World is all as calm as Carolinge, Lorna, I've spent my life knowing that the most dangerous ocean of all is the one I call my home. Do you know how paranoid that can make a kid? Guardian children are taught all this from the cradle, in order to motivate us to protect our home. We have two choices in the end—to continue being afraid, or to master that fear and face it anyway."

"And you choose to face that fear by doing something so reckless as going out into the world all but alone, with no contacts and no protection bar your own strength? Damini, you will be a prime target," Lorna said bluntly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're small, you're female, and you'd be very noticeable in practically every place except for Carolinge. Neither do you have the advanced combat skills you would have learned had you continued with your Guardian training."

"I know all that! The thing is, this makes me normal rather than abnormal," she insisted. "I choose not to live my life in fear of my own shadow, as do millions of other Carolingens every day."

I glanced at the other occupants of the table as the argument continued. Aya leant forward, her head resting on interlaced fingers and her eyes sparkling with interest as she watched, an expression on her wrinkled old face like she was mentally keeping score. Her husband, a spindly old man with a waist-length salt-and-pepper beard, leant back in his chair, slurping quietly at the dregs of his soup and paying no attention to the argument besides the few occasions when either Damini's or Lorna's voices rose to make a point. Turaya and Kiran, Lorna's five and six-year-old daughters, carefully watched their mother for a while, before slinking out of their chairs and running off, no doubt to join the neighbourhood kids in a sunset game of tag.

Lorna hardly noticed, immersed as she was in the argument. "All this conceded, then, tell me what you plan to do about pirates?" she tried, changing tack. "Considering your limitations, and Loki's, although we don't even know what those are yet-" she shot me an apologetic look- "tell me how you intend to safeguard yourself."

"Well, for starters we'll be leaving on Wednesday," Damini said, raising a hand to forestall Lorna's outraged protest. "No, let me finish, since you asked the question. It's nearly autumn, which means the quiet time is just about here. Pirates are less active in autumn as a general rule, although you still can't be certain to avoid them all. I know which islands are notorious pirate haunts, therefore I can avoid them like the plague, and I also know where the Marines have strong presences, such as here in Tusanto. Traveling with Loki rather than alone will prevent either of us from being seen as lone targets and therefore easy pickings. Other than that, there's really not a whole lot else we can do."

"To stay safe in the New World, you'll need a whole lot more than that," Lorna said doubtfully. "Luck, for example."

"You're trusting Loki's luck to keep her safe," Damini shot back, her eyes narrowing. "Aside from our respective heights, what is the difference between myself and her?"

"Everything!" Lorna threw up her hands in exasperation. "You have a future here on Carolinge. Loki's future lies elsewhere, and her past as well. You have a career ahead of you—as a politician, as an academic, as a cartographer, as a wife and mother, anything you want to be! You're an incredible girl, Damini, and I would hate to see you throw your life away chasing wild dreams into the grasp of some pirate with a rusty cutlass. Make use of your education. You have so much potential; don't ignore it."

Eyes suddenly turning sad, Damini gave Lorna a quick smile. "What if I told you I want to be a navigator? I'd have to leave Carolinge to fulfil that dream anyway, even if I didn't go with Loki."

"Yes, but you'd enlist with the Marines, and travel with other cadets to G5, and I'd know you'd be safe. There'd be no opportunities in a merchant company." Lorna closed her eyes and massaged her temples, suddenly seeming years older. "Look, Damini, I am your legal guardian, I am your mother's best friend. I have a responsibility to you: to make sure you're content, to provide you with the things you need, and most of all, to make sure you're _safe_. If you go gallivanting off to Roger knows where, I can't fulfil that duty."

I stared down at my empty plate, suddenly feeling as if I was intruding on something private. The soft yellow light of the lamps that lit up Lorna's house at night reflected off the greasy china surface.

Damini made her rebuttal as I collected my cutlery, and stood, ferrying my plate and the girls' abandoned leftovers to the kitchen. When I returned to the dining room, Aya's husband had vanished as well. Silently taking my own leave, I ambled out to the entrance hall, and up both flights of stairs to my second-floor room.

There was a cool breeze doing the circuits of my room, rustling the pages of the notebook that sat open on the bedside table. It had been a gift from Damini, bought on a whim when she'd dragged me into a bookshop up on the hilltops near the College a few days ago. Since then, I'd been treating it almost like a physical memory bank: the first few pages were covered with observations and badly-sketched diagrams of anything and everything that had come into my mind.

Stopping by the table, I picked the book up, and carefully closed it, taking care that none of the pages were creased. The night was setting in, and the notes on the paper were barely legible to my eyes. Sighing, I picked up the bright cotton shoulder bag—another gift from Damini—that sat on the floor under the table, and slipped the book into it.

I didn't own much to pack. The book, the pencils that came with it, and a warmer woollen jacket than the first one I'd been given. Aside from the clothes on my back, that was all.

I resignedly shut my window up for the night, undressing in near-total darkness and settling myself down under the covers. Sleep was a long time coming, however, and I eventually fell asleep with Lorna's words circling around inside my head:

"_You have a future here on Carolinge. Loki's future lies elsewhere, and her past as well."_

* * *

><p>Damini stayed shut up in her room through the next morning, muttering darkly to herself. Lorna, on the other hand, floated serenely through breakfast as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night.<p>

"Damini lost her temper," Aya informed me, grinning unsympathetically. "Poor girl's not used to losing arguments, but she's never tried arguing against a lawyer before. And, well, you know what they say about lawyers…" she trailed off giggling fitfully. Lorna turned to glare at her out of the corner of one kohl-lined eye.

"I heard that, Auntie. What do they say about lawyers?"

Aya waved the question away, still laughing quietly to herself. Lorna rolled her eyes, but let it slide.

She drifted over to the bench near me, dividing her attention between me and the bowl of eggs she was industriously beating. "While we're on the subject, Loki, please watch out for Damini for the next couple of days. She's a good girl, but she doesn't let go of ideas easily."

I shook my head, silently agreeing with her. "You want me to discourage her if she talks about coming with me again."

"Well, more or less," Lorna said, half turning away as if embarrassed. "I just don't think she's thought it through entirely. She's studied geography a lot, and I suppose those stories of faraway places have gotten to her. She's always had an adventurous spirit, so I'm not so surprised at that."

"She told me yesterday that there's a time for thinking, and a time for action," I said noncommittally, not wanting to get too involved but feeling that Lorna required a response.

"She's right in that, I suppose," Lorna sighed, pouring the eggs into a sizzling pan. "Truth be told, I don't think I can stop her from leaving for long—it wouldn't be fair to, really. I just… well, I suppose I'm scared. I look at her, and I see what I hope my own daughters will grow into. She's an amazing girl, but she's growing up so fast. Maybe it's a misplaced mother's instinct, but I've looked after her these past five years, so I have an excuse."

I hmm-ed, not knowing what to say to that. The eggs in the pan were beginning to smell really good. I quite liked eggs, they were a nice treat as far as I was concerned. Especially with plenty of salt.

I didn't have much intention of discouraging Damini from traveling with me. Truth be told, I had welcomed the idea—Damini would be good company.

Monday, and then Tuesday passed rapidly, frighteningly fast at times and then mind-numbingly slow. I spent most of my time wandering through the market with Damini and the girls, or else lying on my window ledge far above the street, watching clouds go by. I made a half-hearted attempt to fulfil my promise to Lorna, but Damini didn't so much a make a peep about accompanying me on my approaching journey.

Then, on Tuesday night, I looked in past the curtain door into her room, and saw her furtively putting together a bag of her possessions.

"I thought you told Lorna you weren't going to go," I said, stepping in past the bright orange curtain. Damini's head shot up, her eyes wide, but not, I thought, looking very guilty at being discovered.

"I lied," she said flatly, her steady gaze daring me to challenge her. "I've been thinking a lot these past couple of days, Loki. I think this is an opportunity, and one that'd be foolish not to grab with both hands. Don't ask me how—I can just feel it."

"I won't stop you," I gave her a small smile, settling myself cross-legged on the end of her bed. "It's not my place to tell you what to do with your life. That's your own job—or at least, that's what you told me."

"It was, wasn't it." Damini's expression softened somewhat. "Then you really don't mind?"

I shook my head, absently examining the small pile of belongings on the floor in front of her. There was a set of spare robes, two of her most treasured books, and a small case I knew contained her instruments and writing implements. "That's all you're taking?"

"Aside from what little savings I have, yes," Damini said thoughtfully, staring at the pile. There was a second, significantly larger pile on the floor behind her. "I didn't want to weigh myself down, but it's really not a lot, is it?"

I shrugged. "I don't really know what you need. Water?"

"If we take a couple of canteens from the kitchen, that won't be a problem. There are water stops all along the road to Lokashiri, and in the cities you can buy just about anything these days. I'd be more worried about food between here and Lokashiri."

"Raid the cupboards downstairs," I suggested. Damini giggled amusedly.

"We could. Disguise it as a midnight snack run, and no-one would guess." She sobered quickly, her smile fading. "I shouldn't be laughing. Lorna's not going to know whether to be distraught or enraged."

There was a silence. It stretched on, and on. I didn't know what to do, or say, so it continued, more and more oppressive by the second.

Finally, Damini sighed, burying her face in her hands. "Gimme a minute," she said, her voice muffled. "I just need to think."

"It's all right," I said, climbing to my feet again and heading for the door. "By the way, uh… thanks again, for everything. I'll see you in the morning, one way or another."

One way or another, tomorrow would be the start of a new chapter in my life. Damini just had to decide whether it would be the same for her.

* * *

><p>Sunlight. Carolinge's most plentiful natural resource.<p>

It shone down out of a vivid blue sky, far too hot for so early in the morning. I wore the hood of my jacket pulled down low over my forehead in a futile effort to shade my eyes from its harsh rays.

The street market outside Lorna's house was just gearing up for one of the busiest days of its week. Down the street, the donkey was braying, and the stench of pig muck rolled in waves through the still air. Lorna, Aya and I stood by the fortuneteller's stall, avoiding the traffic as I went through my belongings one more time and Lorna tried to say her goodbyes.

"Good luck with finding a courier when you get to Lokashiri," she said, clasping her hands over her belly. "Stay near Rankogi Dock if possible; the Marine presence there should be enough to discourage any troublemakers."

She'd given me a couple of canteens full of cold fresh water and a bag full of food—bread mostly, but there was some dried fruit and a couple of oat crackers hiding down the bottom somewhere. I'd had no problem making room for it in my travel sack, but I wanted to make doubly sure that my notebook was safely out of the way before I left.

I hadn't seen Damini since last night. What she'd decided in the end I didn't yet know; was she coming with me, or staying behind? Her room had still been dark and silent when I'd passed it on my way downstairs.

"Good luck from me as well," Aya chimed in, wrinkled face smiling as she clapped me on the shoulder. "Stay out of trouble, fish-girl."

"I'm Loki," I said for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. Aya just winked resignedly.

"You'll always be fish-girl to me, dear. Now, are you ready? Sure you want to go?"

I nodded to her, and again to Lorna. "I have to. Thank you for looking after me. If I can, I'll repay your kindnesses someday."

"No need." Lorna shook her head vehemently. "You just stay alive out there, okay? I don't want all this effort to go to waste."

Chuckling, I gave the big old house one look, and moved out into the street. "Thanks anyway!" I called back, once I knew she wasn't in any position to reject it. Both women gave me a little wave; I waved back, and headed off down the street.

I knew which route I had to take to get to the coast road. The market road led me to the College Avenue, which in turn joined onto a cart road which after a few kilometres led onto the main route north through the dusty plains which surrounded Tusanto. Damini had showed me the route a few days ago, and each landmark was still fresh in my mind.

Head full of purpose, I strode on down the street, weaving in and out of the market crowd. It was slow progress, and I'd only gone two blocks before a shout went up behind me.

"Loki, wait!"

I stopped in the middle of the street, a smile creeping across my face.

Sandaled feet slapped against the cobblestones as Damini skidded to a half beside me, grinning hugely with a half full travel bag hanging from her shoulder. "That was close!" she gasped, leaning half on a nearby cart, half on me as she dragged in deep breaths. "I nearly lost you a few times there. I didn't want you to think I'd changed my mind. Damini Alalari is not that sort of person."

"Then you decided to come with me?" I asked. Damini nodded insistently.

"In the end I couldn't stop myself. I just _need_ to get out of this city, off this island. I can't explain it any better than that."

"How did you get away?"

She grinned wickedly, straightening up and setting her hands on her hips. "It was easy, really. I got up at dawn, got dressed and checked everything was ready, then waited in the dark until I heard Aya open the front door. I raided the kitchen in record time, climbed out Turaya's bedroom window onto the kitchen roof, and went over next door's roof to climb down their drainpipe. Then I just waited until Lorna and Aya went back inside, and here I am!"

"So I see," I said, smiling. Damini nodded, winking mischievously.

"Shall we get going again?" she asked. I nodded, shifting my bag on my shoulder and glancing ahead at the brown hills to the north of the city. Damini settled her own bag into a more comfortable position, and strode on ahead.

The walk through the city went quicker than I had been expecting it to. We went straight through the middle of one of the biggest souks in the market district, taking a shortcut Damini knew between it and the white-dressed stone monuments at the College. Damini gave the old buildings fond looks as we passed, recounting to me what classes she'd had in each of them.

Then the road passed under a huge stone arch on the outskirts of the city, and I looked back and saw Tusanto glittering in the bay below, white stone domes and shadowy ships out on the harbour. We'd officially passed into the wilderness.

The hills were golden-brown, all bare earth, sand and grass baked to a crisp. The road was more dirt than gravel, and almost uncomfortably hot on my bare feet. I hadn't ever travelled so far from the nearest bit of shade, and as we walked on, it began to wear on me.

We were far from the only travellers on the road: every so often, a cart would rumble past on its way to the city, and quite far ahead we could see a solitary figure through the heat devils rising from the ground. We had passed a pair of foreigners resting on the side of the road a few minutes back, their pale skin red with sunburn.

The skin on my shoulders had only stopped peeling in the last couple of days, so I suppose I could sympathise with that. I surveyed the bleak landscape as we crested the top of the hill, and sighed.

"We'll find some shade somewhere and take a break at midmorning," Damini said with a shrewd sideways glance at me. "It's not good to travel over the hot hours; you'd risk heatstroke."

"You've told me that before," I reminded her, stumbling as I put my foot down on a particularly sharp and jagged piece of gravel. "Ow! Goddammit, that hurt!"

"That's what you get when you don't wear shoes," Damini laughed, scuffing her sandals along the road to illustrate her point. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't complained about that before."

I hopped along on one foot for a couple of steps, showing her the soles of my feet. "They're so callused it hardly matters. That one just got me in between my toes, was all."

"At least it's not bleeding," she observed. "Why didn't you ask us for a pair of shoes? It's not as if they're expensive."

"Well, I didn't want to impose on you any more than I was already, and two…" I shrugged, looking up at the blue vault of the sky. "I just don't like the idea of shoes. I like being able to feel the ground under my feet."

Damini nodded, closing one eye and squinting up at the sun. "I see. Let's keep going for a bit, but stop at the next bit of shade we see. It's getting closer to eleven o'clock."

We walked on in silence. I held my arms out from my body, trying to get a bit more fresh air around my body. There was some wind, but not enough, and I'd already drunk a lot of my water. It was oppressively, torturously hot.

Aside from a slight sheen of sweat on her cheeks, Damini looked perfectly comfortable. She was wearing a looser, shorter robe than she had the past few days, a loose hood draped over her head, and a pair of slim leggings under her skirt. By contrast, I had my loose shorts, a thin cotton shirt and a jacket, yet I was soaked to the skin with sweat, slowly falling behind as I struggled with the heat. Two weeks couldn't compare to a lifetime of living with the Carolingen sun.

After about ten minutes Damini spotted a stunted tree growing on a ridge up ahead. We climbed up the side of the hill and found to our delight a shadowed overhang cutting into the side of the hill between two gnarled roots. It would make an ideal resting place for a good few hours.

After a carefully measured drink and an end torn off one of my loaves of bread, I was feeling almost ready to doze off. I watched Damini unpack her own supplies—bread, cheese and dried fruit, much like mine, although she'd brought a couple of lychees as well. The strange fruits reminded me a little of something, though I was never sure exactly what that something was.

The afternoon wore on slowly, hot and unchanging. Damini started the odd conversation, but a combination of our lack of energy and the steady chirping of insects in the dead grass sapped away any will we had to continue them.

After the sun dropped low enough in the sky that it began to shine into our cool haven, we struggled to our feet and scrambled down the hillside back to the road. While the sun was as unrelenting as ever, there was a fresh sea breeze in the air, briny and cool. I breathed in deep and exhaled in relief, chasing away the last vestiges of fatigue.

"How long do these hills keep going for?" I asked Damini, fiddling with my hood until it gave me the shade I wanted. "They just seem like they're going on, and on forever."

"Two days' worth of walking, I'm told," she grimaced. "The last day is all down on the plains before we get to Lokashiri."

"And they all look like this?"

"Brown, dead and eroded?" Damini clarified. "Loki, everything on this side of the island looks like that. The mountains east of here form a rainshadow effect. The eastern half of Carolinge is wet jungle, while the west is almost all desert. The difference is split almost exactly down the middle of the island."

On the side of a nearby hill, a flock of birds rose screaming into the air. The noise split the air like a knife, startling both of us. I glanced at Damini, narrowing my eyes at the wary look on her face.

The track led around a sharp bluff as it continued down the valley, cluttered with boulders and sharp shards of stone at the base of the cliff. Damini went ahead, scouting out a way through the worst of the sharp stuff for me. She disappeared around the bluff, and barely a few seconds later I heard her let out an abrupt cry of surprise.

I stopped dead in my tracks for a moment, then continued around the corner at a run. There was a bright orange hat lying in the middle of the track, and beyond that, Damini.

It took me a while to see what had made her cry out. She knelt by the side of the track a few yards ahead of me, crouched over something lying heavily on the ground. As I approached, I realised it was the prone body of a young man.

Damini leant back, shrugging her pack off her shoulders and digging through it. "I seem to have a talent for finding people unconscious in the middle of the road," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Who is he?" I crouched down on the man's other side, curiously studying his features. He was as pale as I was, curiously without sunburn, with a thick crop of wavy black hair plastered to his head with sweat. The only clothes he wore were a pair of black shorts and rough boots; aside from a string of beads around his neck, he was naked from the waist up. His mouth was open, and I could just hear what might have been a faint snore above the constant chirping of the cicadas on the hillside above.

"I think he's just asleep," I added, and Damini paused, giving the man a strange look.

"In this heat? More importantly, in this place?" She reached out to gingerly prod his bare chest, and yelped, drawing back her hand as if she'd been burnt. "He can't be! He's positively boiling!"

"Maybe he's been out in the sun for a few hours," I suggested. Damini firmly shook her head, rejecting the idea off-hand.

"Out here, that kills. He might have had a run-in with some bandits. Perhaps he _is_ a bandit, he looks enough like one. Look at this tattoo on his arm."

"Close, but no cigar."

I rocked back on my heels in shock; Damini shrieked and scrambled to her feet with impressive speed. The mystery man blinked sleepily, eyes focusing first on Damini, then on me. It was he who had spoken, his light voice rough with sleep.

"Now if only I couldn't wake up to two pretty girls every time," he chuckled as he sat up, calmly brushing road dust from the back of his head.

"Are you all right?" Damini asked concernedly, overcoming her surprise enough to step closer to him once more. He glanced up at her with wicked black eyes before he looked around, searching our surroundings for something. When he spotted the orange hat on the track beside Damini, his face lit up.

"My hat!" he exclaimed, snatching it up. I caught a glimpse of a huge tattoo on his back—a skull on crossed bones, wearing an upturned crescent as a moustache.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured Damini with a wide grin. "Nothing to worry about, I just fell asleep."

"What do you mean, nothing to worry about?" Damini's voice rose in perplexity, her frown deepening. "You're burning up!"

"I am," he agreed nonchalantly, grinning as he set the hat back on his head. "The name's Ace, by the way. You two have names?"

Damini scowled, peering at him as though she could find out the truth simply by staring hard enough. "I'm Damini, she's Loki." She waved a hand at me, and Ace glanced back over his shoulder, flashing me a cheeky grin.

"Heya, blondie. What are you two doing out here all alone? The guy in that city back along the coast told me this road was a dangerous one."

"It's also the only one," Damini corrected, "and it's not so dangerous—at least, not that I've heard lately. Who told you it was dangerous?"

Ace shrugged expansively, unconcerned in the slightest. "How should I know his name? I just asked how to get to Lokashiri, and he told me. Simple business." He rose to his feet,

stretching his arms out behind his back and rolling his shoulders with a pained look on his face. "That wasn't the most comfortable napping spot I've ever had, but I suppose it could have been worse."

"You say that like it happens a lot," Damini drily observed, settling her bag back on her shoulders. Ace chuckled offhandedly.

"You could say that. I fell asleep in the back of a cart once, on top of a sack of potatoes. I was finding funny-shaped bruises all over for a good week." He half-turned, looking back at Damini and I out of the corners of his eyes. "Where are you two headed? That guy in Tusanto said bandits had been attacking travellers out here for the last couple of weeks."

"Lokashiri," Damini replied, frowning worriedly. "I hadn't heard anything about bandits. They don't usually start preying on people until late autumn."

"Guess they've changed their methods," Ace said. "I'm headed to Lokashiri as well. Wanna team up?"

"Safety in numbers?" Damini asked, looking relieved. "That sounds like a good idea to me. Loki, what do you think?"

I started, blinking in dull surprise. I'd just gotten used to listening to their conversation.

"If I was a bandit, I'd rather pick on two people than on three," I said honestly. "Why not, if we're going to the same place?"

"Then it's settled." Ace grinned, offering Damini his hand. She shook it firmly, her small dark hand swamped in his. "Nice to meet you, Damini, and you too, Blondie."

With that, he turned and strode off down the road, not so much as glancing back to see if we were following. I stepped forward after him, but Damini remained where she was, her eyes wider than I'd ever seen them go before, transfixed.

"What is it?" I asked, pausing on the road in front of her. She stared past me, her eyes fixed on Ace's retreating back.

"That tattoo!" she gasped, clutching the hand she'd used to shake hands with Ace. "Of course—Portgas D. Ace!"

"What about it?"

Damini's eyes flicked across to mine, filled with a wild amazement. "Portgas D. Ace, also known as Firefist," she recited, her voice low and urgent. "Loki, he's wanted by the World Government for no less than 250 million beries. A former pirate captain from the East Blue, he fought the Shichibukai Jimbei to a standstill about six months ago. After that, he and his crew disappeared." She gazed back at Ace, taking a deep, shaky breath. "That tattoo, though… I never told you what it means, did I?"

I shook my head mutely. She glanced wryly up at me, then abruptly strode forward after Ace.

"It means he's a member of the Whitebeard Pirates."

* * *

><p><em>Word Count:7454<em>

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who put this story on your Alert list (of which there were quite a few)!

A lot of what made it into this chapter was more stuff that for stupid reasons I'd omitted from the first edition—Damini's argument with Lorna springs to mind. I've ended up with an unusually long chapter yet again, which I may actually keep aiming for. I usually prefer longer chapters (9K as opposed to 5K words), but what do you guys think?


	4. Dance With The Enemy

Funny story – after a break of about two years, all of a sudden all my Bleach ideas reared their little heads again. So for a while, I couldn't write anything but Bleach. Then, a couple of days ago, I completed a contest picture starring Loki and Marco, and suddenly, lo and behold, the words just started flowing again.

Sometimes, just occasionally, being a writer really pisses me off. :I

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_-Chapter Three: Dance With The Enemy_

We kept walking through the evening, and well into the dark hours of the night. The desert turned cool and silent around us minute by slow minute.

A great silver moon hung over the northern horizon, casting milky white light over the landscape, turning the golden earth into peaks the colour of bones. As the sun set, the air cooled rapidly, going from far too hot to unpleasantly crisp in about an hour.

Damini found us a clear campsite for the night underneath a rocky overhang, several metres up the hillside above the track. Some tinder-dry branches from the dead bushes that dotted the hills served as fuel for a fire, lit by a spark from Ace's fingertip. I crouched close to the fire, so close I could feel my skin tightening in the heat, and basked in the dry heat.

"If you get any closer to that fire, you'll be sitting in it," Ace told me, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Were you that cold?"

"No." I shook my head abruptly. "I don't mind the cold. I just like fire better."

Ace chuckled, grimacing as he dug a shard of rock out from under his thigh. "I'll take that as a compliment." His eyes sharpened, and he looked between me and Damini, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"So, I forgot to ask earlier. What brings you two all the way out here? And aren't you kind of an odd couple to be traveling together?" His eyes narrowed slightly at me as a thought crossed his mind. "Unless you're her berie knight, of course."

"Her what?" I asked, utterly confused. I looked to Damini for an explanation, but she shrugged, eyes blank and uncomprehending.

"I guess not," Ace grinned. "Berie knight. It's like a bodyguard, only cheaper. Or do you not have them in Carolinge?"

"I wouldn't know, even if we did," Damini put in. She knelt on the opposite side of the campfire, her big black eyes fixed intently on Ace. "I'm – well, I _was_ a scholar by trade. We don't tend to need that sort of protection."

"Then how did you end up with Loki?" Ace asked, returning her gaze with an open-faced honesty. "No offense, but you Carolingens don't mix much with other people, from what I've seen."

"None taken," Damini replied smoothly, folding her hands in the sleeves of her robe. "Loki was injured and dumped outside my landlady's house. My landlady decided to take her in and nurse her back to health. However, I suppose as a result of whatever injured her, she has total amnesia: she can't remember anything that happened before her attack. So she is looking for something that will help her get her memories back, and I decided that I wanted to help her look."

Ace leant forward, lips quirking in an interested smile. "Sounds like an interesting mission! What happened to you?" he asked, directing this question straight at me. "You hit your head or something?"

I gave him a placid shrug. "Dunno. Can't remember."

"Of course." He chuckled, turning back to Damini. "You didn't think of getting a doctor to look at her?"

"Of course we did!" Damini retorted, stung for once into raising her voice. "My landlady's neighbour had a look at her – this was that first day, when you were passed out on your bed, Loki – and he couldn't find anything wrong with her at all."

"Huh. Really?" Ace gave me a quizzical look, cocking his head to the side like an overgrown puppy. "I'm no doctor, but that sounds damn weird."

I shrugged again, hugging my knees tighter and staring at the flickering campfire. "I wouldn't know either way."

"You'll learn, sooner or later," Damini said. I think she meant it to be encouraging, but the words fell flat. In the silence that followed, I took stock of my physical state, counting up the tolls of the day.

The soles of my feet were the worst – they burned with a slow ache, abused beyond tolerance by the rough grit of the road. I reached down and ran my fingers across the bottoms of my feet, noticing the beginnings of calluses that hadn't been there yesterday. The muscles in my legs ached as well, but that I could ignore with little trouble. My left shoulder felt like it should have been an inch or two lower than my right – I'd forgotten to switch my bag from shoulder to shoulder as Damini had been doing.

"So, Ace, turnabout is fair," Damini began, restarting the conversation with a determined frown on her face. "How come you're out here on your own?"

The pirate grinned, casually flicking a shower of sparks at Damini. "You're pretty cheeky for someone who knows my reputation so well."

Damini squeaked, snatching her robes back though the sparks fell well short of her. "Was there any need for that? I just say things as I see them, that's all. We told you what we were doing; now it's your turn!"

"Fair enough," Ace grinned. "I'm just on a scouting mission for Pops. There were a couple of small fry crews working up and down the coast a wee way south of Tusanto. I got rid of 'em, and now I'm heading back to the rest of the crew. I'd be there by now if they'd let me get a nice boat."

"Who's 'Pops'?" I asked, trying to work the kinks out of my left shoulder. It would take some work; the muscle there felt like it had been set in stone underneath my skin

Ace scooted forwards, closer to the fire. There was a smattering of freckles across his cheekbones, I noticed, and every time he grinned they spread out in a dusty line below his eyes. "'Pops' is Whitebeard. He's like our father, so we call him Pops."

"Oh." I gave up on my shoulder, blinking tiredly into the fire. "I see."

"Yeah, right," Ace grinned genially. He glanced back at the bit of ground he'd chosen, and cleared a few rocks from it before he laid down with his back to the rocky overhang. "I'm gonna stay awake for a bit, but you two look like you could do with some sleep."

"We probably could," Damini agreed readily. I glanced at her, and then at Ace, who had crossed his arms behind his head and was now staring absently up at the night sky, his hat sitting on the ground at his side. He didn't seem particularly untrustworthy, but I decided I was going to stay awake a little longer anyway.

Damini curled up a safe distance away from the fire, and was asleep within minutes. I stayed crouched close to the fire for a few minutes, before I decided I'd had enough of the direct heat and moved backwards a tad. The night air was cool and fresh in comparison, and soon I found my eyelids drooping closed.

Just for a few minutes, I resolved sleepily. And like a thief, slumber gently stole me away.

* * *

><p>It was just before dawn when I woke. 'A few minutes' had turned into 'a few hours'.<p>

The sky was a strange shade of yellow near the eastern horizon, fading to a gentle pink blush and then to greyish blue in the west. The air was still and chilly, and the embers of last night's fire smoked gently, a few glowing coals still giving off a faint heat.

Ace was still fast asleep, spread-eagled on his back with his mouth wide open. Irregular snores sounded in time with the rise and fall of his chest. There was a little spider industriously spinning a web over his head; a few drops of dew decorating the silk pattern. If Ace had sat up then, he'd have gotten a faceful of slightly damp web.

"Oh, you're awake?" Damini spoke from somewhere behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder as she emerged from behind a clump of scraggly bushes. "Good. Morning is the best time for travelling, before it gets too hot. We should make it out of the hills by nightfall."

"What's the hurry?" I asked. "You sound a bit urgent."

Damini gave me a dry look. "This," she said, and upended the bag she'd brought with her. A few stale breadcrumbs and a bit of cloth wrap tumbled out.

"Where's the rest? The bread, the cheese?" I frowned in consternation. "This isn't good."

"It isn't," Damini flatly agreed. "The food you were carrying is still there, but it won't last the three of us for more than two days. I notice Mr Portgas hasn't got any of his own provisions."

We both gave the sleeping pirate a long look. He shifted in his sleep, scratched at an old scar on his chest, and gave a contented burp.

"He ate it, didn't he." Damini shook her head, wearing an expression halfway between outrage and resignation.

I would have bet everything I owned at that moment that she was right.

As the sun rose, Damini and I shared half a herb loaf between ourselves, making a half-serious pact to keep the rest of our food well out of Ace's notice. The pirate woke just after we'd finished the last morsel, and sat up without noticing the spiderweb half an inch in front of his nose. It took him a couple of minutes to evict the startled spider from his hair, by which point Damini was half-comatose from laughter, and I had had to giggle at least twice myself.

"I'm gonna get you two one day, see if I don't." Ace scowled, picking the last of the web from his forehead. Damini picked herself up from the ground, dusting her robe off with a silly grin.

"That poor spider! Hours of her hard work, gone in an instant! What did I do to you, eh?"

"Well, you laughed, for one, and you didn't help me get the damn thing out of my hair," Ace grumbled sulkily. "I'm just glad Thatch didn't get to see that… although, knowing him and spiders, I at least would have had good blackmail material."

"Who is Thatch? Is he scared of spiders?" Damini chuckled, taking pity on Ace and passing him one of the water canteens. Ace brightened up a little at that, taking a long swig and recapping it with a flourish.

"He's one of my crewmates. I'm surprised you didn't recognise his name, little miss Pirate-Fangirl," he grinned. "Thatch is the fourth-division commander. He screams like a little girl when he so much as sees a spider."

"Oh, that Thatch," Damini said unconvincingly. "Well, it's been a while since he's been in the news. I can't help forgetting things just occasionally!"

"He'd cry if he heard you say that," Ace said, sniggering. "Tons of fun, he is."

"I don't doubt it for a moment." Smiling sweetly, Damini led the way back down to the track, and the journey began anew.

After about half an hour of walking, I realised that my feet seemed to have toughened up overnight. The odd sharp bit of gravel on the road didn't bother them as much as it had yesterday. I paused for a moment, balancing on one leg while I inspected a new callus on the ball of my foot. My body was getting tougher, just as I'd hoped.

I shifted my bag to my other shoulder, and noticed that Ace and Damini were pulling further away in front of me. I ran to catch up, and Damini turned back to me with an amused grin.

"What were you doing all the way back there? You'll get left behind."

I shook my head, catching my breath. "I was just looking at something." I pulled my bag off my shoulder, digging out a canteen and taking a gulp of the still-cool water. Even this early, the sun still had power. Sweat was already beading on my back and forehead.

"Hey, you could always keep your eyes on us," Ace quipped. "I'm a hell of a lot more interesting than anything else in these hills!"

I stared at him – mostly at the bright orange hat and the strangely misspelled tattoo on his left bicep. "I agree."

Damini giggled, shaking her head at the expression on his face. "Loki tells it as it is, Ace. You'll get used to it."

"I hope so." Ace gave me a lopsided grin. "You're pretty interesting yourself. I wonder what you were before you lost your memories?"

I splayed my hands, looking down at them with a watchful frown. There were calluses all over them, on my palms and on the side of the middle finger on my right hand, exactly where I held my pencils when I wrote. They were not new; I'd had them since I woke up in the street outside Lorna's house.

"Those look like rope calluses," Ace commented. He showed me his own palms; rough and weatherbeaten, with almost the same pattern of calluses as my own. "You tend get them if you work on rigging duty for long."

"That supports Lorna's original theory," Damini mused. "I don't know where the writer's callus comes from, though."

"That one?" I guessed, motioning at my middle finger. "Is that what they're called?"

"Yes, because writers get them a lot." Damini held up her left hand, showing me her own middle finger. "I have one. Dozens of essays and worksheets will do that do you."

"I see." I let my hands fall to my sides again, looking up at the hillside. As I did, I caught sight of something in the air – a faint column of greyness, drifting through the cloudless sky.

Damini spotted it almost at the same time as I did. "That's strange," she said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand and squinting. "Isn't that smoke?"

"It is," Ace said, and he sounded almost serious. He pushed past me, jumping the bank in one supple movement and clambering upwards through the scrub.

Damini and I looked at each other, frowning. She moved to follow Ace up the hill, and I followed in her footsteps.

Ace was standing on the top of the ridge, gazing out across a narrow coastal plain when we arrived behind him, breathing heavily. The hill was steeper on this side, plunging down to a deep valley through which a dry streambed snaked. Perhaps one or two miles away, a cluster of buildings sat clumped together on a headland that jutted out into the sea.

It was from one of these buildings that the column of smoke poured. Flickering orange flames, barely visible from this distance, danced around the biggest of the buildings.

"Pirates!" Damini gasped. She pointed out further, to a ship that sat heavily in the water off the headland. As it drifted at anchor, the morning sunlight plainly illuminated the skull-and-crossbones device printed on the mainsail.

"Hmph," Ace said, plainly displeased. A thin frown flashed across his face and disappeared, leaving behind an expression of cool self-control. "I guess my mission isn't quite over yet."

"What do you mean?" Damini asked, her hands hovering near her mouth as she gave him a troubled look.

"I mean that Pops told me to get rid of all the guys that were making trouble here in Carolinge." Ace gestured down at the village, grinning mirthlessly. "I guess these guys didn't get the news."

"So…" I looked down at the burning village, then back up at Ace. "What can we do?"

Damini gave me a look of mixed surprise and fear, but Ace's smile turned approving.

"Come over here a moment," he said, beckoning to us. "I have a plan."

* * *

><p>A sea breeze rustled in the scrub bushes, smelling of salt air, smoke, and something like charred meat. It had been worse closer to the village, where I had passed a flyblown pig's carcass left to decompose away from the main road. Obviously the pirates had been basing themselves here for a few days, maybe longer.<p>

I had with me a cured leather bag, dangling from a rope of woven wire. It contained a handful of hot coals, whose warmth emanated through the leather and made the bag too hot to comfortably touch for long.

I scrambled along between the bushes, thorns catching my clothes and tearing tiny holes in the fabric. I would have had a much easier time if I had taken the existing path that led down to the bay where the pirates' landing boats were pulled up, but that route would have had its own dangers. Twice already I'd had to freeze in place as half-drunk pirates headed back to the village.

Damini and Ace had stayed near the burning village, so I was on my own. All I could hear was the booming of the surf echoing somewhere underneath my feet, and the screeching of seagulls circling in the sky above.

I reached the edge of the cliff, and swallowed nervously as I looked over the edge and down a good sixty metres of perpendicular cliff. Surely there was a better way down than this? And there was no beach for the boats at the bottom; instead, waves crashed against huge, mussel-encrusted rocks.

The answer came to me after a moment. I turned and picked my way along the edge of the cliff, searching for the path the pirates had used. The risk would have to be taken.

I abruptly came to a set of weatherworn stairs carved into the solid rock. They curved down along the side of the headland, disappearing into an open seacave near the mainland. Booming echoes of the waves bounced out at me, sounding a lot bigger than they actually were. I took my first steps down the staircase, keeping one eye out in front of my and the other behind as I descended. I wasn't going to let anyone sneak up on me if I could help it.

At the bottom of the steps, the track rose over a pile of boulders and opened to a broad, sandy beach that stretched along a wide, high-roofed channel running right through the headland. At the other end of the cave, the sun shone through a wide window through the rock with seraphic intensity, but this side of the headland was deep in shadow. Waves rolled up on the beach, white spume pushing across the damp yellow sand.

I headed across the beach to where three large longboats were pulled up above the high-tide mark. Dangling my fire bag from my little finger, I looked around for anything I could use as fuel. There were no bushes down here, not even any dry flotsam on the beach. I spotted a few grasses growing at the very highest parts of the beach, out of reach of even any storm, and noticed the charred hulks of three larger boats, fishing vessels by the look of them, lying in the shallows.

Poetic justice, I decided.

There was an old sack in the bow of one of the boats. I gave it an experimental prod, and found it was stiff and dry. "Good fuel, maybe?" I muttered to myself, picking it up and testing the fabric. It was in surprisingly good condition: no holes, no tears. In the end I ripped it in half along the seam, wrapped some of my coals up in it, and set them down in the bottom of the boat. It took a nervous while for the fabric to start burning; I spent it wondering whether or not this plan of Ace's would work.

Eventually, it did. As the rough hessian caught alight, I moved onto the next boat, using up the rest of the sack.

Then I stood, hands on my hips, and stared pensively at the third boat. I had no tinder to get another fire going. Glancing back up at the clifftop, I wondered why I hadn't stopped to collect a dead branch or two. Hindsight is perfect, but absolutely useless.

Clattered footsteps sounded sharply on the rock. I froze as a flicker of movement at the bottom of the cliff caught my attention.

"Who the hell're you?"

A pirate had come down the stairs while I hadn't been looking. He had paused in drunken disbelief on top of the stack of loose rocks the track passed over, swaying gently on the spot, his jaw dropping open. Firelight glinted in sunken, yellowed eyes; his skin had a sallow, frail cast to it, and his hair was shot through with grey. He wore ragged trousers and an open-collared grey shirt, and there was a pistol tucked into the sash at his waist.

His mouth opened and shut once. Then he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Fire!" and dashed across the beach towards the boats.

I reacted instinctively, intercepting him halfway and kicking his legs out from underneath him. He went down heavily, letting out a surprised yell. I stamped hard on his back, going down on top of him and holding his head face-down against the sand. He struggled weakly, scrabbling for the gun at his waist, but I got there first.

"Hey! Ya bastard, the hell're ya doin' ta Salter!" Another shout caught my attention – another pirate, a woman, running down the stairs at breakneck speed. A pair of young men followed her, no doubt attracted by the older man's cry of alarm.

The man underneath me struggled to raise his head out of the sand. "Rany! Get this crazy bitch offa me!"

I toyed with the catches on the gun for a moment, and levelled it at the man's head. He went very quiet and still—the woman on the steps screamed.

I pulled the trigger.

The gun went off with a sharp explosion. I felt the recoil in my arm as the weapon kicked, and nearly dropped the damn thing. Little spots of blood flew through the air.

"Ya BITCH!" The woman screamed at me, landing on the beach and pulling out her own pistol as she ran towards me. "I'll teach ya ta mess wit' th' Rockhelm Pirates!"

Calmly, I levelled the pistol and pulled the trigger. The bullet went wide this time, so I readjusted and shot again. She stumbled forward, clutching her gut, and stopped moving, trying to aim through a grimace of pain. I lunged to my feet and darted towards her, throwing myself to the side as her gun gave a sharp report. The bullet tore through my loose sleeve, just missing my elbow.

Before she could shoot again, I cocked my fist and punched her in the jaw. Her head snapped to the side and she stumbled backwards. I kicked her in the gut, and this time she went down with an agonised shriek. I dispatched her in the same way I had the other man – with a bullet to the head.

I stood up slowly, aiming for the two younger pirates still on the stairs. Both turned on their heels and scrambled off up the stairs as fast as they could go, trying to elbow each other out of the way. I shot at one, but missed. When I pulled the trigger again, nothing happened. The gun had run out of bullets.

A flare of bright orange light blossomed from a dark figure on top of the cliff. The two pirates barely had time to slow down before they were enveloped by a huge swathe of flames.

Portgas D. Ace came swaggering down the stairway, grinning down at me as the flames obediently melted back into his body.

"I thought I should come and check on you, see how you were going," he said, his gaze flicking from me to the boats to the two dead pirates sprawled on the sand. "Sheesh, I guess I shouldn't have bothered. You're a stone-cold killer, ma'am."

I flexed my fingers, dropping the now-useless pistol at my feet. "I don't think I've used a gun before. It felt strange, and I don't seem to be a very good shot."

"Luckily, with point-blank range, it doesn't matter how good your aiming skills are," Ace chuckled, prodding the dead woman with his booted foot. "I'm still surprised you can talk so casually about it with these two lying on the sand in front of you."

I blinked. "Why wouldn't I"

"Oh, human moral, empathy, shock, that sorta stuff. Personally, I don't bother with it, but I always thought that was just 'cause I'm a pirate." He grinned, and turned to investigate the boats. The pitch seal in the hill had caught fire, and was burning merrily away in two out of the three. He pointed at the third, the one I hadn't managed to light, and a lance of yellow flames skewered the craft right through. The flames caught quickly, rapidly spreading over the entire boat.

"Is that a Devil Fruit power?" I asked, my lips quirking in an interested smile. Ace glanced up at me in surprise.

"Yeah, it is. I thought everyone knew about my power. It's kind of in my epithet, after all."

I shrugged expansively. "There's a lot I don't know. I've got about two weeks' worth of worldly knowledge."

"So I see." He grinned roguishly, and started back towards the cliffside staircase. "I ate the Mera-Mera no Mi, the Logia fruit of fire. I create fire, I control fire, I _am_ fire. When people say I'm hot, they mean it literally."

"I see," I said. "It sounds useful."

"It is, as a matter of fact. Good for shock and awe, and all that, but I'm fantastic at lighting bonfires and heating up cold rooms as well!" He gave me a quick, knowing look over his shoulder. "You're a bit more chatty when Damini isn't around, aren't you?"

I shrugged ambivalently. When Damini talked, I felt like I didn't need to. When she wasn't present, however, I had to say everything for myself. I wasn't sure which option I preferred yet.

"Where is she, anyway?" Last time I'd seen her, she had been following Ace into the village with a distinctly anxious look on her face.

It never once struck me that I probably should have been feeling a lot less composed than I was, considering someone had just tried to kill me. The fact that I had killed them instead didn't matter one bit to me, and truth be told the memory of the old pirate's face was already fading from my mind.

Ace leapt up the last couple of steps, striding confidently into the scrubland. "Hanging out in a safe place with a couple of terrified kids. We couldn't spirit away any more of the villagers than that; the pirates are apparently running head counts to make sure no-one runs off to get the authorities."

"So what's the plan?" I asked, ducking around a particularly thorny branch. Ace shrugged, tiny orange flames licking around his shoulders.

"I figure I'll just go in there and cause a bit of a scene. That usually works. The captain holds the crew together, so he'll go first. After that, who knows?"

"Right. I think I'll find some place out of the way and just watch."

Ace laughed, winking back at me. "Good idea. You'd just be in the way otherwise, cold-blooded killer though you are. Smart, and kinda pretty to boot. You'd make a good pirate."

"You think?" I thought back to the fight on the beach. Pirates had been the enemy then—but then again, Ace was an ally, and a pirate as well. Perhaps there really were two different kinds of pirates, as Damini had said.

"Oh, sure," Ace said, gesturing loosely. "There's three things that make a great pirate. Number one is luck, number two is practicality, and number three is a certain sense of… style, shall we call it. You've got the first two, from what I've seen. You just have to work on the third."

I could hear a smile in his voice. "Are you serious?" I asked. He gave me a lopsided grin.

"Yeah, I guess. It's what all the truly great pirates have. Pops, Red-Hair, even Big Mom."

"Gold Roger?" I suggested. Ace was quiet for a long while.

"I wasn't even born when he was executed," he said eventually, shaking his head. I stayed quiet, suddenly feeling as though I'd said something very wrong.

"Damini's off through there," Ace said suddenly, gesturing to a smaller path that cut off around the village. "Keep going until you get to the big rock sticking out of the scrub."

I turned off along the smaller path, and went a little way along it before I stopped. I waited until Ace had gone on towards the village—and then went back to the bigger path, following him at a distance.

The fire in the village had almost burned itself out, and the column of smoke rising into the sky was quickly dissipating. The smell, though, that still remained. I passed the pig carcass I'd noticed earlier, just before the track led out into a wide clearing surrounding the village.

There were probably just under a hundred people ranged around the edges of the clearing, both pirates and villagers. It was fairly easy to tell who was what—the villagers wore the brightly coloured Carolingen robes, while the pirates were dressed to a man in ragged cotton shirts and metal helmets. Though they were outnumbered at least two to one, the pirates were the clear masters. At the centre of the gathering, Ace stood, facing a huge bearded man sitting on a throne made out of empty crates.

The man on the throne glanced my way, and grinned, gesturing loosely. "Let's have the whore," he said.

I blinked, and realised he was talking about me. All thought of Ace's mini-sulk went clean out of my head.

Two pirates approached me, one from each side. One waved a sword and leered at me, while the other lazily brandished a pistol. "Be good, girly, and we won't hurt you," the man with the sword wheedled, cocking his head to one side. "Too much, at least."

That sword looked painful, and besides which, I'd just beaten a man with a gun.

I lunged towards the man with the pistol, grabbing him by the shoulder and hip and hurling him with all my might into the other guy. He had time for one short gurgle before the other man's bloody sword burst from his back. I tore the gun from the dead man's grip, pressed the barrel against the other man's head before he could push the dead weight off himself, and pulled the trigger.

An angry silence was shattered by the sound of clapping. Ace grinned lopsidedly at me, applauding appreciatively.

"Bravo! Not bad at all!" He gave the man on the throne—the captain of the crew, I assumed—a pointed look. "My friend there is a cold-blooded killer, and we all know it's not good to underestimate those sorts of people. But the thing is, I'm the one who's got business with you. Personal business."

I took the opportunity to move further into the open, closer to the safety Ace represented. I had been stupid to follow him in the first place; now I'd have to rely on him to get us out of this danger. I wasn't sure I liked the idea.

"Yeah?" With one last glare at me, the captain turned his decidedly uninterested attention to Ace. "So what's your problem, pipsqueak."

Ace crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing abruptly. Several of the gathered pirates surreptitiously stepped back.

"This island belong to Whitebeard. You're trespassing."

The captain snorted, grinning derisively. "Naw, I think you're the one who's trespassing, kiddo. What are ya, like, seventeen? You and your bitch better quit playin' and get outta here before the real pirates decide to teach ya a lesson."

"Hah," Ace chuckled mirthlessly. "You don't recognise me? I'd say that was a surprise, only you've already proven you don't have the brains of a donkey's arse."

"Mouthy kid, aren't ya?" The smile disappeared from the captain's face faster than a rabbit down a hole. He rose from his throne, cracking his knuckles. "Hey boys, do me a favour and make sure they can't get away. I'm gonna enjoy this."

"Well, you better get whatever you're planning over with quickly," Ace grinned ingenuously, as the crew circled around us. "Whitebeard is my captain, and he's given me the order to deal with all crews trespassing on his territory."

"That old relic can go rot for all I care," the captain grinned maliciously. "This is the new age of pirates! The oceans of the world belong ta whoever's strong enough to take 'em!"

Ace closed his eyes, shaking his head in resignation. He cupped his hands in front of his chest, and the charged aura in the air around him changed, becoming more focused—hotter.

"That's true." He opened his eyes. "But there's one thing you've forgotten to take into account."

His hands flickered, melting into shapeless fire again. It leapt outwards at a slashed gesture, arcing between himself and the captain. Both men disappeared in a violent inferno—silent, except for the crackling roar of the flames.

When the fire died away, Ace alone was left standing on the open ground. Silent and dumbstruck, the remaining pirates stared at the patch of blackened earth where their captain had stood mere seconds ago.

"The oceans belong to whoever can take them, sure enough." Ace told the empty air. "Right now, that'd be me."

As one, the assembled pirates fled.

Ace stepped back to where I stood for a moment, grabbing my shoulder. "Go find Damini, will you? I'll deal with this lot."

I nodded, and loped back into the scrub. I could hear the terrified pirates yelling at anything and everything—the only thoughts in their minds of how to get away. Ace had turned into a nameless bogeyman for them.

I followed the track back to the crossroads Ace had pointed out earlier, and hurried along it. What had he said earlier? Something about a rock.

A pillar of fire bloomed behind me, almost as bright as the midday sun. I glanced backwards, and saw a pirate following me, his eyes wide with fear but trained intently on me. They widened further as he realised I'd seen him, and put on an extra burst of speed. I forced myself to go as fast as I possibly could, staying just a couple of strides ahead of him in the narrow track.

A rock outcrop loomed up out of the scrub ahead of me. The track abruptly opened up into a small clearing.

I whirled automatically, turning to face my pursuer. As he burst out of the scrub, I stuck my foot out, sending him flying into the dirt. I threw my full weight onto his back before he could get up, aiming my gun at the base of his skull and shooting. The recoil rocked my arm back against my shoulder, just like it had all those other times.

"Congratulations, you're number five," I told the dead pirate, and giggled stupidly. My mind suddenly felt bright and bubbly, and I wasn't sure why.

"Loki, is that you?"

I looked back over my shoulder. Damini had emerged from the scrub around the base of the gigantic boulder. There were two little girls, both of them little older than toddlers, huddling together behind her legs and staring at me with round obsidian eyes. Damini's gaze took in the dead man and the gun in my hand; she looked back at me, and swallowed uneasily.

"Hi," I said, waving. "It's definitely me."

Damini exhaled hugely in relief. "Good. I saw the fire, and then all these pirates running through the scrub, and I don't know what's going on and I _hate_ it."

"We should go back to the village," I said, standing up and wiping my hands on my shorts. They were going to need a wash _so_ badly after today. "I don't think the pirates would want to go back there."

"Knowing his reputation, I'm not surprised," Damini picked up the smaller of the girls, who immediately buried her face against Damini's shoulder. "I have to say, meeting him in real life has been an education."

I shrugged, heading back along the path towards the village. "I don't know, but it's been an interesting day."

Damini snorted. "'Interesting' is not the word I would use. Terrifying, yes, and maybe enlightening as well. Speaking of which, you have blood on your clothes."

"Not mine," I said coolly. "Apparently I can fight."

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about," Damini said, dropping the subject. We continued on in silence, occasionally pausing when the sounds of pirates drew closer.

Eventually, we made it back to the village, where the two little girls ran silently to their mothers and clutched their skirts with vicelike grips. Damini said something I couldn't understand to the women, who nodded tearfully and hugged their children close. "_E saarin dá basso, douisa,_" one told her. "_Kotti saaringaa mo."_

Damini's eyes widened, and she gave me a short grin. "They must be very isolated out here," she told me, smiling sheepishly. "Hair like sun and skin like bones, she said. She thinks you must be an angel of death."

I blinked in perplexity, looking at my hands. "I don't feel very angelic right now."

Damini laughed for real that time, bracing her hands on her knees and closing her eyes. "In our oldest legends, the servants of the gods have either yellow or silver hair, like the sun and moon," she explained between chuckles. "Sea angels have blue skin, servants of the sun have yellow, and tenders of plants have green. The god of death's servants have white, like bleached bones left out in the sun. It's just an old belief, one that only really hangs on in these little out-of-the-way places."

"I see," I said, nodding slowly. "Shouldn't I have wings though?"

Damini shook her head. "No, but a necklace of bones wouldn't go amiss." She grinned at me, blinked once, and burst into fresh giggles. "Sorry! I think I'm a bit wound up, that's all!"

"Eh, what's so funny?" Ace emerged out of the bushes a few yards away, striding across to us with a wide grin pasted across his freckled face. "I think I've got them all," he added, shrugging. "It's hard to tell how many there were."

"You killed them all?" Damini asked, biting her lip. Ace nodded, frowning at her expression.

"No mercy," he explained flatly. "We can't afford it in the pirate world. If they were a bigger crew we might have gone about it differently, but I see no reason to go easy on trash like them."

Damini nodded, but the look in her eyes was still troubled. "Lorna might have been right about me," she said unhappily, giving me a one-shouldered shrug. "I have underestimated this world."

Ace suddenly looked hunted, and opened his mouth to say something. Damini walked over to sit against a half- destroyed wall—and a wild-eyed man leapt out from behind it, grabbing her by the hair and pressing a rusty old knife against her neck.

Even before Ace and I had begun to move, Damini reacted. She slipped her forearm between herself and the man's hand, raising her leg and viciously kicking him just below the kneecap. He stumbled, and she grabbed his knife hand, pirouetting and kicking him again on the ribs.

By that time Ace had reacted. He punched the man with all his strength, sending him flying into the side of a building with enough force to crack the mud brick wall. I pounced on him, straddling his chest and pinning him down. I aimed my gun right between his eyes, but it was Damini who leant down and pulled the trigger.

A deadly silence filled the space left by the sound of the shot.

Damini dragged her eyes away from the dead pirate, and looked up at Ace. "I guess you missed one," she commented dryly, and began to cry.

* * *

><p>Almost two full days later, tired and covered in dust, we arrived in Lokashiri. It was evening by then, and as we walked through underneath the great gate between the outlying districts and the city centre, the golden sunset bathed everything in a soft, warm light.<p>

Lokashiri was not like Tusanto, where everything was built in desert mud-brick. Here, the buildings were cool grey stone, chiselled into worn and weathered blocks. The city seemed cooler, somehow, and much less bright. There was no wood anywhere to be seen.

Ace led the way up the main road, heading purposefully uphill. Most of the traffic on the road was going the same way—towards the ports.

Staring after him, I studied the tattoo that covered most of his back—a skull with an upturned white crescent across it, above a pair of vertically crossed bones. In the twilight, it was hard to tell for sure, but I thought the mark might have been tinted slightly blue.

"That tattoo, the one on your back…" I began. "What does it say? How come you have it?"

"This one?" Ace batted ineffectually at the mark, trying to look over his shoulder at it. "It's Pops' mark. I got it so everyone can see where my loyalties lie. It's my treasure—well, one of my treasures at least." He gave up trying to look at it, his expression deadly serious. "There's a lot of us that have it tattooed somewhere, this or the simple version. I just wanted mine big so everyone could see it."

Then his eyes widened comically, and he paused in mid-step, before abruptly turning down a side alley, towards a doorway with coloured paper lanterns hanging from the archway above it.

"Where are you going?" Damini asked, utterly confused by his sudden change of attitude.

"Restaurant!" There was a new grin on his face, this one bigger than usual, and more than slightly sillier. His steps were longer too, I noticed. Damini and I were suddenly struggling to keep up with him.

"I thought you said we'd better head to the Moby Dick?" Damini commented, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Eh, no hurry. Besides, I'm hungry."

As if in agreement, my own stomach gurgled loudly. Both Damini and Ace paused, staring at me.

"What?' I said, and shrugged. "I guess I am too."

"I concede defeat," Damini said, and she and I followed Ace into the restaurant.

It sold mainly fish dishes- not surprising, given its location. I ended up with a plate of crumbed spicy fillets and a herb-encrusted flatbread. Damini had salted clams with one of her favourite curries, and Ace bought what seemed like the entire menu.

After days of nothing but bread and hard cheese, the fish was nothing short of delicious. I wolfed it down, and got halfway through the flatbread before my stomach suddenly decided to inform me that it was full, thank you very much.

Meanwhile, Ace was busy finishing off his sixth plate. A whole fillet disappeared into his gullet with bewildering speed, topped off with vinegar and potatoes. He drained a glass of water, and waved the proprietor over to order a couple of beers.

"I'll eat that if you're full," he told me, motioning to my abandoned flatbread. I shifted it onto his plate, where it was gone in seconds.

"What are you, a bottomless pit?" Damini asked, wide-eyed with amazement. "How are you going to pay for all that?"

Ace glanced up at her, swallowed his current mouthful, and said, "I have my tricks." Then he was back into the food, finishing off a seventh and an eighth helping before sitting back with a satisfied sigh.

"Why aren't you spherical?" I asked. Ace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning widely.

"You just gotta work it off afterwards. It's all good if you do that. Otherwise, you just end up like Teach—fat, and broke to boot!"

"Who's Teach?" I leaned forward, watching him intently. I'd been curious about his crew for a while now—wondering what sort of a crew produced a pirate like Portgas D. Ace.

"He's in the second division," Ace explained, leaning back and grabbing a toothpick from the bar. He stuck it between his lips, playing with it as he continued. "Looks like a fat dumb bastard, but actually he's pretty fun. Only person I ever lost an eating contest to, although that was only 'cause we were eating raspberry pie. He's a great man for his pie, is Teach."

He grinned at Damini and I from heavy-lidded eyes. "Actually, speaking of my nakama I'd been meaning to ask you guys something. How about joining the Whitebeard Pirates?"

Damini shot up out of her chair, nearly knocking over her glass of water in the process. She grabbed at it, trying to stop the water going everywhere, and stared at Ace with wide eyes.

"Are you serious?"

He nodded, chuckling. "Perfectly serious. You both can fight, and Damini, you said you were training to be a navigator, didn't you? Well, the first division's navigator needs an apprentice, and we don't have any people smart enough for that old harpy. I know you're really smart, 'cause when you start explaining things I can hardly understand what you're saying!"

"I'll join," I said, cutting Damini off mid-squeak. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do at the moment."

"What about looking for your memories?" Damini turned to me, wide-eyed and serious. I shrugged.

"I can do that at the same time. This way I'll probably get to more out-of-the-way places." I thought for a moment, and added something that had been gnawing away at my thoughts for the last couple of days. "I also want to know where I learnt to kill. I think I knew how to already, and that was why I found it so easy."

"True, you'll probably figure that out better if you come with us rather than the Marines," Ace mused. "So, Damini?"

Damini sighed, frowning uncertainly. "Well, I want to stay with Loki, wherever she goes."

Ace grinned happily. "Well, now you can stay with me as well. Aren't you happy?" He ducked as Damini wrapped her shawl around her face in embarrassment and tossed a toothpick at him. "On second thoughts, Loki's welcome to you. Now, we better head off again."

Damini crossed her arms and gave him a flat glare. "What about paying for the food?"

Since the day we'd fought the pirates, Damini had recovered from her overwrought state slowly. The fact that she was arguing with Ace again was a good sign—it meant she was almost back to normal.

Ace shrugged, looking nonplussed. "What about it?"

"That's your big trick?" Damini said, plainly unimpressed. "You eat and run?"

He nodded, absently picking at his teeth. "Uh-huh. I'm a pirate, you know? It's practically my duty."

"Yeah, well, it's not nice," Damini argued stubbornly. "Do you even have the money to pay for it?"

"Probably not." Ace grinned and shrugged, pushing his stool out from the bench and standing up. "You coming at least, Loki?"

"Wait!" Damini cut me off with an irate shout, and flagged the proprietor down. "How much for the meal?" she asked, digging out the little bag she kept her savings in.

Ace turned away, scratching his nose with an uncomfortable expression on his face. The proprietor, a short, hairy Carolingen man, took one look at his tattoo, and said, "350. It's happy hour at the moment."

Damini counted out the money into his hand, and led the way out of the restaurant, scowling. "That wasn't fair, Ace."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault!" Ace protested. "I'm just not used to paying for things!"

"You didn't even pay for it! I did!"

I blinked a few times, tuning out Damini's repeated threats and looking out across the land. From the peak of the ridge we'd climbed earlier, I could see almost the entire city. To my right was open sky, and city sloping down to a wide open plain, and to my left, the harbour glittered with myriad lamplights, the last of the evening light slowly retreating from the sky in the west. Stars twinkled serenely in the sky above, dark clouds building up into a classic thunderhead above the horizon.

Looking down into the harbour, I spotted the pale bulk of the a massive ship, markedly closer than it had been a mere few minutes ago. Lamps flickered all over the ship, and if I strained my eyes, I could pick out a few dark shapes moving across the deck.

Damini had told me about Whitebeard's flagship, the Moby Dick. Even from this distance I fancied I could see little dark shapes moving about across the deck. Ace's crewmates.

"Hey," I said, and to my surprise, Damini stopped in mid-threat. I nodded down at the port. "Should we get going again?"

"Good idea." Ace grinned, rising to his feet. "Come on; let's go say hi to the guys."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Word Count:<strong> 8203_

_You know, I'm pretty dang happy with this chapter, considering I only started writing the damn thing on Tuesday. I feel like I have a better reasoning behind Damini and Loki joining the Whitebeard Pirates than I did last time around._

_Next chapter, Marco has his debut. I can't wait!_


	5. Man Without Ground

_Alright, guys… best-laid plans and all that. About a week after I posted the last chapter, I was diagnosed with Bell's Palsy. For those who don't know what that is, it means one side of my face is paralysed. So my right eye won't blink, and whenever I try to smile I look damn stupid. Otherwise it's fairly mild, however, so it's all good—and it obviously doesn't stop me from typing or drawing, so that's all good with me. I just find it a little annoying that I'm actually working faster like this…_

_Anyway… thank you very much for all the reviews! I keep on meaning to reply to them all, but since I can only log into FFnet on my home computer, which runs off dial-up, they keep on getting lost in the slow, plodding connection… Although, now that I think of it, I should be able to log in from polytech as well… _

_Happy Easter! I don't really celebrate Easter myself, but hey, it's a good excuse for an early update XD_

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_-Chapter Four: Man Without Ground_

"Hey, Pops! Guys! I'm back!"

Ace didn't even bother with the ladder that had been leant against the side of the Moby Dick, choosing instead to jump right up to the railings on the side of the ship and balance there, crouching with his arms propped up on his knees. I could almost hear the grin in his voice.

"I brought a couple new friends too! Can they stay, Pops?"

A pair of heads appeared over the railing, looking down at myself and Damini. "We may as well meet them," someone said, and Ace beckoned to us to join him up on the deck.

"I'm suddenly a lot more nervous than I was," Damini muttered to me as she took hold of the ladder and began to scuttle up the side of the ship. I wasn't quite as agile as she was, and it took me a bit longer to scramble up after her.

The open deck of the Moby Dick was lit with a few dozen lamps, the shadows of the furled sails hanging from the spars overhead like heavy-looking clouds. A cool sea breeze blew across the space, setting the lamp flames aflutter.

It took me a while to realise that it was crowded with pirates of all shapes and sizes, lounging against the railings and the masts, sitting on crates and barrels and piles of rope here and there, crowding in the miniature amphitheatre that bordered the edge of the ship and curved around in front of the third mast. A raised cabin faced the main amphitheatre, and placed against it was a gigantic chair—more like a throne, really—in which a real giant of a man sat, a tankard the size of an average barrel in his hand.

"There goes Whitebeard," Damini muttered to me, her eyes glittering with wonder as she gazed intently at the man.

The strongest man in the world surveyed us with sharp golden eyes.

He wore a black bandanna on his head, and a massive white mustache shaped like an upturned crescent perched on his upper lip. His jaw was broad and prominent, his brows heavy and brooding. He was easily twice my height—maybe taller—and probably three or four times wider. His broad, heavily muscled chest was crisscrossed with an assortment of old scars, framed by a thick, heavy longcoat resting across his shoulders and covering his upper arms. There was a palpable aura of command around him: _this_ man was in charge, beyond all doubt.

And there was something underneath his aura of authority, too... I could feel it pressing down, not uncomfortably, but as a constant watchful presence. It sent a shiver up my spine, this weight. It seemed _old,_ but stronger than anything I'd ever felt before.

Whitebeard lifted a hand in greeting. "Welcome back, Ace." His voice was deep, harsh and guttural as if he'd taken a knife to the gullet in some long-ago fight. "How did it go?"

Ace grinned, snatching a chicken drumstick from an unattended plate and flopping down on the deck in front of Whitebeard. "Pretty uneventful, all things considered. You were wrong about just how many crews were hanging around, though. I found the two you told bme about no problem, but a couple of days ago I ran into another one by a complete accident. They know better than to push their luck now." He took a massive bite out of the drumstick, and waved it absently at Damini and I. "I found these two on the road from Tusanto," he told Whitebeard through his mouthful of chicken. "Well, they found me, I mean."

"Narcoleptic fit?" A tall blonde man sitting perched on the railing at the top of the amphitheatre guessed airily, crossing his arms across his branded chest. "I have to say, I'm impressed at your luck."

Ace scowled up at him, tearing another bite off his drumstick. "Shu' up, Marco," he grumbled through a full mouth. "It was a hot afternoon! I couldn't help it! Anyway, I'd heard that there had been some bandits working the road lately, so being the nice person I am, I asked them if they wanted to stick with me until we got to Lokashiri."

"Yeah, we all know you're a total stud, Ace," someone called out, provoking a flood of chuckles from the assembled pirates. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"

"Someday I'll find out who said that, and then you'll all be sorry!" Ace gave the crowd a look halfway between a scowl and a pout. "Ignore these guys," he told Damini and I, rolling his eyes. "They're a bunch of cads and jokers, all of 'em."

"So it went all good for about an afternoon," he continued, thoughtfully staring at the leftover scraps of meat on his chicken bone as if he was evaluating whether they were worth picking off. "Then the next morning we came across that third lot of pirates I told you about. It looked like they'd picked a village to leech off rather than just going around attracting attention to themselves. I walked up to their captain, introduced myself and everything, but they didn't seem so interested in what I had to say."

"Kaboom time," another man chuckled. Ace shrugged, grinning easily.

"Yeah, pretty much. I'd sent Loki–" he jabbed the chicken bone at me—" to burn their landing boats, so they couldn't get away over the sea. I may possibly have missed a couple that ran off into the hills, but I highly doubt it." He shrugged expansively, giving his audience a resigned pout. "I shoulda let at least one of them get away in hindsight, so he coulda told the story for me."

Whitebeard's hawklike gaze shifted from Ace, settling on Damini and I. "So, you've delivered them to Lokashiri," he began, stapping one giant finger at us. "What were you planning to do with them once you got here?"

I saw Damini swallow nervously out the corner of my eye.

Ace grinned ingenuously up at Whitebeard. "Well, it's like I said earlier, Pops.

"Thing is, Loki has some sort of amnesia. She can't remember anything that happened before about… was it two weeks? Two weeks ago." Ace glanced at me for confirmation. "But she can fight like someone's trained her."

"A pirate someone, you're thinking," Whitebeard rumbled, his yellow glare resting on me. Ace nodded, grinning.

"Well, from what I saw, yeah. So I figured, maybe she's looking in the wrong world. Maybe it's us pirates who have the memories she's looking for. And since we all know I'm a nice person, I told her that maybe she'd be better off looking as a pirate rather than a civilian."

It was a little strange, having so many people's attention fixed on me all at once. Some of their gazes looked sympathetic, while others were evaluating and suspicious. Whitebeard himself merely watched me, plainly weighing up the options.

"You have nothing, huh?" he said eventually. It took me a while to realise through my nerves that the question was directed at me.

"I have a book," I told him, quickly shaking my head. "And I have my clothes. That's something."

Ace bit his lip and grinned, while Whitebeard raised a solitary eyebrow. Suddenly a rattling chuckle burst out through the giant man's lips.

"So it is!" he laughed, taking a hefty swig from his tankard, as sake sloshed over the rim and down his chest. "I would venture, though, that it is almost nothing. You can fight, Ace says, and that's enough for me. I won't turn away any girl who comes to me for help—but there's a proviso in that, and it's that I don't help anyone who won't help themselves first. Understand that, blondie?"

I nodded, feeling sweat beading on my forehead. As soon as Whitebeard had laughed, the presence in the air had for a moment become almost unbearable. It diminished quickly, but the memory of it was still fresh in my mind.

"It sounds fair enough to me," I said aloud. Whitebeard harrumphed, settling back in his oversized chair again.

"Good. So—what about this other one, eh, Ace?"

Damini sat up straighter, nervously licking her lips. In contrast, Ace lounged back again, bracing himself against the deck with one hand while he gestured airily with his gnawed and slobbery chicken bone.

"Her name's Damini, and apparently she's been hanging around with Loki forever."

"For the last two weeks!" Damini burst out, going red underneath her charcoal skin as everyone's eyes turned to her. "I found her in Tusanto, and my landlady helped look after her."

"I see," Whitebeard rumbled. "Carry on, Ace."

"Getting nervy, are ya?" Ace chuckled, grinning as Damini blushed deeper, covering her mouth with her loose sleeve. "Well, Pops, this one comes for free with Loki. She's smart, if a bit young, and she's going places in the world. Plus she paid for my dinner just before."

A great roar of mirth rumbled through the deck. The blonde man perched on the railings shook his head in disbelief, while Whitebeard threw back his head and laughed.

"So how much did that set you back?" One of the men in the amphitheatre called over the heads of the crew. Damini buried her face in her sleeves.

"Hey, the restaurant owner was nice," Ace scowled, shrugging when it became apparent Damini was too overcome with embarrassment to answer. "He gave us everything like half price. I'm gonna have to go back there before we leave."

"You were just going to run out on the bill!" Damini protested feebly. The pirates who heard her burst into fresh chuckles.

Whitebeard's grin turned amused. "That again, eh, Ace? Sooner or later no restaurant in the world'll serve you."

"Eh." Ace gave him an empty-handed shrug. "But I'm all good until then, hey? Anyway, you know how Grim—where is she, anyway? How she's been rattling on about finding a decent apprentice lately? Damini's smart. We could try her."

"Then she's not just smart, but educated?" The man on the railing—Marco, I recalled all of a sudden—put in. Ace paused, his eyes darting from side to side, but Damini nodded resolutely.

"Rather more so than most people, yes," she said, nervously clenching and unclenching her fists. "I've spent the last six years at the College of Tusanto."

Whitebeard stared into his tankard for a moment, then emptied what remained of the sake in one monstrous gulp. "Now that's the most interesting thing I've heard all day. What did you study?"

"Human Geography and Meteorological Science for the most part. Some natural geography, sciences and economics."

"Bit overqualified to be a simple navigator, don't you think?" Whitebeard raised an eyebrow and grinned at Damini. She looked up, stung into boldness.

"I don't care! I want to learn about the world, and I decided a long time that navigation is probably the best way to do it."

"Then why not go to the Marines? They'd probably be a bit safer, don't you think?" There was a glint in Whitebeard's eye and a cast to his grin that I just recognised as being teasing. A silly grin plastered itself across my lips in turn.

"I've got a lot of cousins in the Marines, so I know from them that they don't tend to get to travel very far beyond the islands they're posted to," Damini countered. "Civilian travellers—and pirates too—are freer."

She cocked her head to the side, eyes downcast. "And besides which, it's a little late to be asking me that. Three days ago I was—momentarily, at least—a hostage. I've been thinking since then, and I'm not going to turn tail and run when I haven't even gotten off the island yet."

Whitebeard gestured sharply at the dark ocean with his tankard. "It'll be a lot more difficult to run once you're out on the high seas."

"Then, with all due respect, it's a good thing I don't plan to run," Damini stated. That said, she buried her face in the ends of her sleeves again, her sudden bravery gone.

The strongest man in the world looked down at her, and chuckled.

"Not bad. Not bad at all, tiddler. I've just got one last question for you—if you've been kicking around the College for as long as you say you have, did you find the Devil Fruit encyclopedia?"

Damini's eyes grew round and startled. "How do you know about that?"

Whitebeard snorted dismissively. "It's no great secret! Half the world knows there's one somewhere in Tusanto. Knew a guy once who had studied there, it woulda been about fifty years ago now. Ansari someone… I forget his name." He tipped his head back, staring pensively into the middle distance.

Ace blinked up at his captain, innocent amusement glittering in his eyes. "You having a senior moment there, Pops?"

"Insolent pup!" Whitebeard barked, without real rancour. "You get to my age, Portgas, and you'll have earned a senior moment or two!"

The crew chuckled, choruses of whispers beginning to break out in places. Whitebeard glanced at the assembled pirates, and rose from his throne, tankard in hand. The sudden movement set a network of IV lines and medical instruments swaying across his broad chest like necklaces.

"So, my sons," he began, gesturing towards Damini and I with his empty tankard. "Our youngest brother has brought home some strays. You all know Ace; you trust his judgement, so what would you have happen to these two?"

"Well, honestly we really could use someone to stop Grim's complaining," Marco put in from his precarious perch up on the railings, rubbing his temples with a long-suffering look. "She won't turn her nose up in a hurry at someone with a College education, at the very least."

There were a few murmurs of assent from the assembled pirates. "I'm all good with more girls!" someone added from near the back, triggering a few chuckles.

A tall bronze-skinned man rose to his feet, giving Damini a cursory look and myself a much sharper, colder gaze as he approached Whitebeard. Words were said, quieter than I could hear for sure, although judging by the glances thrown out way I could guess at least at what they were talking about. Whitebeard grinned, shook his head, and replied in a low rumble, nodding at the rest of the crew. The man's lips set in a resigned scowl. He nodded once again, and headed back into the crowd, leaping up the amphitheatre to lean against the railings beside the blonde man, Marco.

I watched the two men as the discussion escalated, hunching over my crossed legs and staring with open curiosity. Neither man smiled in the lamplight; Marco's face, oddly square now that I thought about it, was arranged in an expression of bland acceptance, while the darker-skinned man glared out from under a thick black fringe with dark intensity.

A hand came down on my shoulder with startling force, and Ace leant over me, grinning and breathing teriyaki chicken all over me. "What're you doing down here on the deck?" he chuckled, pulling me to my feet. I stumbled for a moment as my calf cramped, standing for myself against the slight rolling of the deck.

I looked up to see Whitebeard grinning down at me, flanked by a couple of younger, smaller men, both grinning like loons. He gave me a short nod, perhaps of approval, I wasn't sure. His yellow eyes glittered, and his presence hung in the air like smoke, thick and heavy.

"It takes us a while to do anything, but on the bright side we never go back on a decision," he said at last, lips twitching in a rough grin. "Welcome to the crew."

* * *

><p>It was gloomy and dark below decks, all quiet, bar the creaking of the deck timbers underneath the watchmen's feet.<p>

The party had wound itself down sometime after midnight, when the sake and rum stopped flowing and the pink-clad, miniskirted nurses cajoled Whitebeard into retiring for the night. After noticing all the IV lines he wore like so many rubbery necklaces, I hadn't been surprised in the slightest to learn that he came with a variety of young, pretty nurses whose only job, it seemed, was to patiently remind him of all the medicines he was supposed to be taking, and sigh in focused disapproval when he completely ignored them.

There were several women in the crew besides the nurses, which I figured was just as well, because it meant that there was a rather spacious cabin reserved entirely for us when we finally trooped down below decks to turn in for the night. And that was where I was right now, lying in a hammock and listening to the steady breaths of the cabin's sleeping occupants.

There were eleven, maybe twelve of us—in my tired daze, I hadn't bothered to count. Ace had dragged us around what seemed like it must have been most of the crew. The division system, the location of the galley, the layout of the masts had been explained to us by a helpful-looking man with curly brown hair, and I wasn't sure I'd understood half of it.

There was a skylight in the roof, through which pale moonlight lit up a patch of the floor. I zoned out for a good ten minutes, staring into this patch of floor, picked out in stark relief with shadows between the floorboards and glowing white light. The shadows around it seemed to grow, then shrink back as thin wisps of cloud passed in front of the moon outside.

Slowly, carefully, I climbed out of my hammock, and over to the sea chest that now held my and Damini's belongings. The lid opened silently, the hinges quiet, and I grabbed my book and one of the pencils, and padded over to the patch of moonlight, sitting down underneath the light.

There was a good-sized section of pages at the front of the book that were almost completely covered in writing, and sketches, and diagrams. Damini might have bought the book for me intending for it to be used as a diary, but I'd been treating it more like a physical memory. I'd noted down in its pages i_everything/i_ I'd seen, drawing little sketches and diagrams for the things I couldn't describe in words.

On the latest page, there was a sketch of a woman carrying a tiny baby in a sling on her chest, a list of words to describe the sandy sparseness of the Carolingen coast, lifted straight from Damini's impressive vocabulary, and another sketch, this time of the smiley-face decorations resting on the brim of Ace's hat. Ace himself occupied a corner of the previous page, his mouth obscured by an exasperated scribble. The sketching was rough and unfinished, and I didn't know whether or not anyone but me would even be able to understand it.

That said, _I_ could. And that was all that mattered to me.

Right now, the thing that was freshest in my mind was a mental map I'd built up of the layout of the Moby Dick. Ace had taken Damini and I on a grand tour of the ship earlier on, followed by a half-drunk, amiable crowd of pirates. Now the arrangement of rooms, corridors and cabins was crying out to me, begging to be remembered, to be drawn down so that while I might forget, the paper would not.

Turning to a fresh new page, I put my pencil to the paper, and began to draw.

* * *

><p>The next morning, I was woken just after dawn by the movements of the other women in the cabin. I blinked for a moment in the gloom, befuddled by the strange surroundings, before I remembered where I was. With the memories came a rush of energy—more insistent than in mornings past—and I swung my legs out of my hammock and stood up.<p>

"Ah, so you're awake," one of the women said approvingly, pausing in front of me on her way towards the ladder to the roof. "That's a good start. You coming to breakfast now?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm hungry enough." I must have gone to sleep still wearing my clothes last night. When the woman continued on out to the deck, I took my jacket off and followed her outside.

The sun was bright for so early in the morning, seagulls wheeling in the sky underneath sparse white clouds. There was a fresh breeze, strong enough that the sails were rippling gently, and waves were lapping around the hulls of the ships in the harbour. The woman I'd followed out stood a few yards away, smiling and gazing out over the glinting surface of the water towards the horizon.

I'd met her last night, I remembered. Her name was Neroli, and she was a first-divisioner. She was tall, though shorter than I was, with curly russet-coloured hair scraped back into two bunches at the nape of her neck. Her hazel eyes glinted with good humour underneath thick dark eyebrows.

Past her, the horizon lurched as my knees buckled. I clutched at my thighs, shaking my silver memory fish out of my vision. The call was as strong as ever, and this time it had come with a vision – blue eyes and hair almost as white as clouds, smiling down at me.

As I straightened, recovering somewhat, Neroli turned to me and grinned. "Looks like a good day for sailing, hey? Did you get the grand tour yesterday, or do I need to show you the way to the galley?"

"Ace pulled us all over the ship, but I don't think I actually remember where anything is," I admitted, dragging a hand through my fringe. I hadn't taken my ponytail down overnight, and there was a small tender spot on the back of my skull where it had been pressed against my pillow as I slept. "Should I get Damini?"

Neroli grinned, folding her arms. "Nah, leave her to sleep a bit longer. She'll need to be well-rested if she's to deal with Grim later. She really doesn't know what she's gotten herself into there."

I raised my eyebrows as I followed her into the stairwell that led down to the galley. "Is Grim that bad?"

"Bad? I dunno if that's the right word for it…" Neroli trailed off, frowning. "Strict, and full of energy and endurance. She expects everyone to be able to keep up with her, and tends to smack you around if you don't. She doesn't have a lot of patience with people."

Breakfast was loud and messy – I shouldn't have expected anything else. I sat with Neroli and another woman, who introduced herself as Sorcha of the second division, and shared a plate of cheese buns with them.

I spent the morning with Neroli, learning my way around the Moby Dick and watching the half of the crew that was rostered on the morning shift prepare the ship to leave the harbour. Ace joined us about an hour before lunch, and helped Neroli explain to me everything that the crew in the rigging were doing. As I didn't have a particular talent, they said, doing rigging duty was probably where I would end up.

"It's not so bad," Ace grinned, sitting cross-legged against the ship's railings. "You get used to the work pretty quickly. It's much easier than what Damini's probably having to do right now, anyway- Grim's got about fifty years of navigational knowledge needing passed on."

"Between Ace and me, there's only about nineteen years' worth," Neroli added with a teasing smirk. She was busy repairing a rope that had frayed something terrible, the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. "And it's just general sailing knowledge. Contrary to what most people think, there's actually more to being a pirate than fighting. Good sailors are harder to come by than good fighters on these seas."

"Not that we don't need the good fighters, of course, but we'd be sunk without knowing how to sail a ship." Ace nodded at Neroli. "On pirate ships and Marine ships, you've got two sorts of people: fighters like me, and sailors like Nero here. The sailors act like backup fighters during battle, and the fighters help out the sailors during the storms, but you can still see the differences between the groups."

Neroli tossed one end of her rope to Ace. "Hold this a moment?" When Ace picked it up, she tugged sharply at it a few times, then smiled and tied off the line she had been repairing it with. "And that's done. Loki, if you're interested in learning to sail for yourself, I can teach you what I know."

I considered the offer. "Sounds like it'd be a good idea."

Neroli grinned happily. "That it does. Looks like Grim's not the only one who's gaining an apprentice!"

"If Damini passes her test, anyway." Ace glanced at the cabin into which Damini had disappeared a few hours ago, led by a grey-haired old woman with an air about her like a snake about to strike. "I hope so, not just for her sake. It'd be good to have another navigator around with Grim's skills."

I sat back, folding my wrists over my knees. "So Grim's good at navigation."

Both Ace and Neroli nodded insistently. "She's better than good – she's brilliant," Neroli told me. "There are stories about navigators like her—the ones who can predict Grand Line storms before they hit, and read ocean currents like books, better than even the Neptunians can. Malicia Grim is legendary here in the New World. The epithet on her bounty poster is 'Storm Goddess' for a reason."

"Although it's about forty years old now, and doesn't really suit her much anymore," Ace giggled wickedly. "Storm Hag, maybe!"

And Damini was studying with someone like that? I grinned at Neroli. "Damini must be having fun."

"I think I'll wait and see what comes out of that door before I make a judgement on that," she replied, setting down the repaired rope and picking up several short lengths of a thinner rope. "Now, if you're gonna be my apprentice, the first thing you need to learn is knots."

* * *

><p>Forget Damini – by the time the ship's bell rang out for lunchtime my brain was stuffed full of knots. Sailors in the past had obviously had too much time on their hands.<p>

Still, my education in knots had made me aware of something quite unusual about me – I apparently had a very good memory for movements. When Neroli had shown me each knot, I had been able to remember the actions of her hands as she tied them, and then imitate them myself. What was more, once I had finished with one type and moved onto another, I hadn't forgotten how to tie any of the previous knots.

All this made my apparent amnesia all the more annoying.

The bell rang for lunchtime, and before the reverberations had finished echoing across the deck Ace had leapt to his feet and hurried towards the galley, the bit of line he'd been repairing lying forgotten on the deck. Neroli and I followed him at a much more sedate pace, giving our muscles time to stretch. I'd completely lost track of how long we'd been sitting cross-legged out in such hot sun.

Ace paused when he realised Neroli and I weren't right behind him. "Come on, you're so slow! All the good tables'll be taken by the time you get there!"

"Good meaning close to the kitchen, I take it," Neroli muttered. "Doesn't Teach always save you a seat anyway?"

"Yeah, but what if he's not there?" Ace fretted for a few seconds, then scowled. "Or what if he forgets? He did that a few weeks ago."

Neroli blinked, before her eyes took on the misty look of someone browsing through treasured memories. "Then he probably won't forget again in a hurry, Ace. I think you're safe."

"If you say so." Ace still looked doubtful.

Just as we passed the upper cabin, one of the doors opened suddenly, and I caught a glimpse of walls plastered with oceanic charts and maps before Damini stepped out and closed the door behind her.

She was smiling more broadly than I'd ever seen her smile before, her eyes reflecting the sunlight as an elated sparkle. Her gaze fixed onto me, and she raised an inkstained hand in greeting.

"Loki! Good morning! How are you going?"

"Shouldn't we be asking you that?" Neroli said as I smiled in answer. "How did you survive Grim? She hasn't taken any chunks out of you, has she?"

Damini grinned. "No, she's fine. She reminds me of the professors at the College – except, of course, the professors weren't strong enough to put a dent in my head if I misbehaved."

Ace laughed uproariously at that, while Neroli looked relieved.

"That's great. And she'll keep on teaching you?"

"Yeah," Damini nodded enthusiastically, her hood slipping off the back of her head. Underneath it her hair was as messy and slept-in as mine; obviously Grim hadn't given her time to do much more than throw her clothes on again. "She says I have the basic knowledge already, so she's going straight into the more difficult stuff. I feel like my brain is about to burst."

"That's uh… that's pretty high praise coming from Grim." Neroli grinned weakly. "I had to work with her once, and I learnt so much that day it gave me a headache. Her constantly smacking me one when I said something wrong didn't help." As she led the way into the galley, she looked around, and her grin turned confident. "Well, if you two want to stick with Ace for lunch, I guess this is where we part ways."

Ace pouted. "You still don't wanna come sit with the guys? It'll be fun!"

Neroli shook her head, still grinning. "Nah, I'll stay outta the way. I've gotta talk to Keiko about something, anyway." She turned away, and within the space of a few steps she'd disappeared into the crowd among the tables.

"Oh well, I guess. It's a pity, but we'll survive. Come on, it's this way." Ace grabbed Damini's wrist and nimbly led her on a winding path through the press of bodies. I followed as best as I could, falling a few steps behind but managing not to lose sight of them.

"Here we go!"

The crowd thinned abruptly. Surrounding the hole in the partition wall that separated the kitchen from the mess hall was an area strangely devoid of tables, and for that matter any people as well. Ace strode across it, and slumped down into a seat at a table at the edge of the open area before waving at Damini and I to join him.

There was another man at the table, heavyset and chunky in build, wearing a bandanna over his mane of curly black hair. He was gazing intently through the opening in the wall and into the kitchen, but he spared us a glance as we sat down.

Ace grinned happily at him. "How's it going, Teach? I brought some new friends today – do you mind?"

"Nah, not at all," the man—Teach—said, grinning back. "So long as they don't steal my food like you do! Mind you, they don't look like they eat much at all, so maybe you're planning to steal from them, eh? Zehahaha!" His gaze swept across Damini and I, his eyes red as the sky at sunset, before he went back to staring at the kitchen.

Ace introduced us. "Damini, Loki, this is Marshall D. Teach. He's in the second division. Teach, this is Loki, and this one's Damini."

"I saw 'em both last night. Pleased to meet ya, though." Teach nodded, his attention still focused on the kitchen window. "Reckon they'll bring out the food soon? I'm starving."

"I can feel my stomach trying to digest itself," Ace commiserated, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. "It looks like they're nearly ready though. Dammit, I don't think I've ever envied Destry as much as I do now."

"Who's Destry?" Damini asked. Ace blinked at her.

"Oh – he's in Second. One of their cooks. He usually eats with us, so you'll meet him once they're done in there." His attention snapped back to the kitchen, and he sat up straighter as a pair of the cooks started loading food onto the table through the hole in the wall. "Come on, come _on_… Nearly there, guys!"

I held back a chuckle. The anticipation in the air around Ace and Teach was almost palpable.

Finally, once the table was loaded high with food, the legs all but groaning as they struggled to hold it up, one of the cooks reached out and rung a little bell that hung on the wall. Ace and Teach were off like twin rockets almost before the chime rang through the room.

"And there they go," someone muttered from behind me. "I hope we've got enough of the pie out."

I wriggled around in my chair, looking up at the man standing there. He was tall, probably of a height with Ace, with sunglasses perched on his forehead over warm brown eyes and a wicked mouth. His curly orange hair faded to pale pink of all colours at the tip of a short ponytail, contrasting horribly with the virulent purple shirt he wore.

The man pulled out one of the free chairs from our table, and sat down, switching his attention to myself and Damini. "I saw you two last night, so no need to introduce yourselves. I'm Destry, Second Division head cook." He smiled lightly at us. "I trust those two gluttons haven't scared you off?"

"Oi," Ace said, scowling through a mouthful of something that looked like squid as he returned from the table, having simply swept an armful of the food onto his plate. "You're not poisoning my friends against me again, Destry? I'll have to whack you if you say yes."

"Well, that's an incentive to tell the truth," Destry grinned sarcastically. "The food good?"

Ace's mood did a complete one-eighty turn, and he grinned widely as he sat back down, his plate piled high with all manner of things. "It's brilliant!" That said, he began to shovel food into his mouth at an amazing rate.

Damini and I went to collect our own food as Teach returned and the press around the food died down somewhat. I reached through the crowd to the nearest fish dish, grabbing a bread roll to soak up the juices. That done, I returned to the table, leaving Damini to pick out her favourite dishes when she could reach them.

When I got back to the others, we'd been joined by another man, who sat hunched over his own plate, defending his food from a wickedly grinning Ace. I recognised Marco, the blonde fence-sitter from last night.

He'd been one of the three people pointed out to me as someone to go to for help when all else failed. As the first-division commander, he was Whitebeard's unofficial second-in-command. He had none of the immediate gravitas I would have expected, but as I approached the table, I began to realise that he had a similar, though weaker, physical presence in the air.

Ace paused in his attempts to steal Marco's food for a moment as I sat down in the empty chair on the commander's other side. "What've you got there, Loki?" His hand snaked out towards my plate, then hurriedly withdrew as Marco stabbed at it with a serving fork.

"This is why none of the newbies you invite here ever stay for long, Ace." He stared calmly at the fire user out of lazy, half-lidded blue eyes until Ace backed down, radiating unflappable calmness. "If you've eaten all your food already, you'll just have to wait until everyone else has had their own. You know the drill."

Ace sank back in his seat and pouted. "I was just curious."

"Curious about what?" Damini arrived back at the table, taking the last empty seat between Destry and Teach. Ace's face lit up, and he reached for her plate. Damini's hand moved quick as lightning, and Ace sank further back, nursing bruised pride and fingers.

Teach laughed, somehow avoiding spraying his current mouthful of pie all over the table. "Zehahaha! Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"I have hungry little brothers," Damini said simply, and stuffed a chicken drumstick into her mouth. Teach laughed again, as did Destry.

"You'll have to teach this one how to do that," the cook grinned, jabbing his thumb in my direction. "Otherwise Ace'll never leave her alone."

Damini saluted. "Will do. Loki, your dinner will survive unmolested once I'm finished with you."

"Shut up," Ace muttered mutinously. "That sounds like a challenge to me."

"Maybe it was." Damini gave him an innocent smile. "I'll leave it up to you to decide how to interpret that."

I watched them bicker for a couple of minutes, before some stray comment reminded me of my food. It disappeared surprisingly fast – I must have been hungrier than I thought I was. Pushing my empty plate away, I sat back in my chair and watched them try to pilfer morsels of food off their neighbours' plates. Marco seemed to be Ace's favourite target, and by this time there were dozens of tiny holes in the table from where his fork had dug into the wood as he tried to ward off his ravenous subordinate.

At last, Ace leaned back, seeming to give up. "You're so mean, Marco!" he whined, scowling rebelliously at the first-division commander. "It's not as if you're eating much of it anyway."

"That would be because I've been too busy trying to keep you away from it," Marco said, his expression the same calm, serene one he'd worn even when trying to pin Ace's hand to the table with his fork. Reading between the lines, I guessed that this was a scene they'd played out at quite a few meals in the past. Even Ace's scowl had a resigned complacency to it, as though he wasn't really that disappointed.

"Although," Marco continued, a hint of a smile creeping into his expression, "you know, by this time everyone else should have been able to take a first helping, so you could always go and get some more for yourself."

Ace's eyes widened comically, and without a word, he scrambled upright, swept his plate into his arms, and dashed back to the buffet, Teach following closely behind.

Destry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and sighing. "You're secretly quite nice, aren't you."

Marco smiled back, equally pleasantly. "It's all a matter of opinion, eh."

The table was a lot quieter without Ace or Teach. Damini and Marco continued to eat, while Destry sighed and went back into the kitchen, complaining about the cleanup job ahead of him.

I leant over the table, resting my head in my hands, and watched Marco out the corner of my eyes. I hadn't had enough time to form a proper opinion of him last night, and I intended to remedy that now.

Blonde hair sat like a tuft of tussock on the crown of his head. His skin was pale, a shade or two darker than Ace's, but ruddy and weathered rather than naturally tan. He was maybe slightly taller, definitely leaner than Ace, and try as I might, I couldn't have guessed his age in a million years. (It was strange; he seemed somehow young and old at the same time.) He wore a pale greyish-purple jacket, left open to proudly display the cross-and-crescent-moon symbol tattooed across his chest. His movements were deft and precise, no spare action wasted.

He didn't have the same air of outright authority that Whitebeard had, I decided, but an aura of calm assurance permeated the atmosphere around him. His dozy, half-lidded eyes were a dusky blue, like the evening sky.

"Loki, is it? Is there any particular reason you're staring at me like that?"

Those sky-blue eyes were suddenly trained intently on me. I blinked, startled at being caught, and gave him a tiny shrug in reply.

"It takes me a while to form a first impression of people, so I figure I'd better get on with it."

A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his full lips. "I suppose you'd better, in that case." He set his fork down on his now-empty plate, and rose to his feet, nodding once to me. "Welcome to the Whitebeard Pirates. I'll be seeing you around."

With that said, he turned back to the room at large, and I lost sight of him in the crowd.

Somehow, it suddenly felt like I'd passed some sort of test.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Word Count:<strong> 7049. Slightly shorter than the last few, but still longer than the first version._

_It was a lot easier to get this one done… mostly because I only had to rewrite the first section, as opposed to the whole thing. I'm kinda excited to get to the next ten or so chapters, 'cause they'll involve even less rewriting, as they're both closer to my current plot and actual storytelling skill level. I was kinda worried, as I've been really into Ao no Exorcist lately (BonxRin ftw!), but as it turns out, that was no bother~_

_And whaddaya know, I even forgot about my palsy. Thanks, Marco. _


	6. The Sun Will Rise

So the other day I was looking through all my old OC profiles, and I remembered that I'd put down April 18th as Loki's birthday. Her real birthday, that is – not that she knows it. It was just a little bit of fun on my part, but it's as good an excuse as any for an update.

There's quite a bit of change here, beginning with the chapter title and ending with most of the final section… Some figurants are getting introduced earlier this time around. Some have mini-profiles up on my dA account (Kemmasandi again), such as Tad. I'll try to get some more up as the characters are introduced.

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_-Chapter Five: The Sun Will Rise_

"Dammit, I hate the evening shift. I bet Teach'll have eaten all the chicken nibbles by the time we get down there."

We were working up in the rigging a couple of evenings later, furling the sails as the Moby Dick dropped anchor for the night. I could hear the sounds of a rowdy dinner floating up through the masts, underneath the shouts of the other sailors in the rigging crew and the screaming seabirds wheeling in the darkening sky above us. Ace and I were working on the same spar, and for the whole time we'd been up here he'd treated me to a running monologue on how inhumane it was to make him work through the usual dinner time.

It was actually kind of impressive. I hadn't had a clue how eloquent he could be on the subject of food.

"It's Destry's fault, I know it is. Destry's wife is the one who draws up these shift lists, you know? They've both got it in for me, have had since—no, I won't go there, I promised myself I'd put it behind me. I can hear those soft, moist, delectable little appetizers calling out to me." He trailed off, a wistful pout on his lips as he crouched down and lashed the rope he held to the spar. "Stupid Teach, he better save some for me." He proceeded to list about seventeen different dishes before someone on the spar below us threatened to chuck him overboard if he didn't shut up.

There was maybe five minutes of quiet. Ace flipped his middle finger at the offending crewmember, who perhaps wisely pretended not to notice. Deprived of my entertainment, I refocused on our work.

Neroli was helping me every so often, pointing out what needed to be done and explaining how. She was much more at home up here in the rigging than she was down on-deck, dashing here and there on this mission and that, dancing along the spars with such surefooted ease of practice she probably could have done it in her sleep.

In comparison, I was trying my hardest to forget that there was a bare six inches of wooden spar between myself and empty air. I didn't have Neroli's inhuman sense of balance—all I had was a thin cord lifeline tied around my waist. My toes kept curling up, trying to dig into the spar as my balance wobbled yet again. I found myself missing Ace's food monologue with a vengeance. At least that had distracted me somewhat.

I had been on rigging duty for a couple of days now, since the Moby Dick had sailed out of Lokashiri one sunny Carolingen morning. It was beginning to get easier to work past my fear. The crew I'd been assigned to was helping with that: Ace's constant chatter, Neroli's helpful pointers, and everyone else's merciless teasing took my mind off the precarious height of the spars.

Counting me, there were seven of us. Verna, the youngest of the first-division women; Tad Russ, a slick-looking guy with a pair of nasty scars carving a ghastly grin from the corners of his mouth to his cheekbones; Kieran Alsace; as soft and kind as Tad was sharp; and Neelam, a little Carolingen man with an evil streak as pronounced as Ace's. Tad had instantly nicknamed me 'probie', and as soon as he made his approval clear, Neelam and Kieran had taken a shine to me as well. Verna on the other hand was a quieter sort, and I still wasn't sure what she looked at me with—disguised suspicion, or simple appraisal.

While most of the Whitebeard Pirates had accepted me with no problem, some—like Verna—had been far slower to welcome me. I would have assumed that it was just their characters—that, like myself, they were remote personalities, slow to involve themselves in matters, but most of them had accepted Damini without a second thought.

Perhaps it was Grim's influence, I mused, picking a knot in the ropes open. The crabby old navigator seemed to me to be treating Damini worse than anyone else, but I'd been assured by Neroli that that was how she showed affection. _"The Storm Goddess shows her love through thunder and lightning,"_ Neroli had joked.

I didn't see how that was supposed to show approval, but I suppose I wasn't one to talk. Ace had started calling me 'No-Grins' as a counterweight to 'Two-Grins' Tad, and the nickname was slowly spreading amongst the rest of the crew.

It wasn't as if it didn't fit me, I had to admit.

A sudden fierce gust of wind caught the half-furled sail, dragging the rope rapidly through my hands. I clenched my fingers tight, wincing at the sting of my abused palms as I caught a proper hold of it again. The sail bulged against the wind, then slowly deflated as the gust died down.

"You got the rope all right?" Ace called across to me. I nodded, shaking my free hand and dragging a pained breath in through clenched teeth as the stinging slowly subsided.

"Haul it in again then," Tad put it. He nimbly bent down, fixing his own end of the sail to the spar and grinning ghoulishly. "Let's get this done so we can go stuff ourselves."

Ace pouted, pointing upwards at the top spar. "That one still needs to come down. Reckon you can handle the height, Loki?"

I shrugged, tying off my final knot and pushing myself upright again. "Dunno. Let's try anyway."

For some reason, even though the spar was only a few metres higher than the one we'd just finished working on, it seemed a lot higher up once I was up balancing on it. The wind buffeted against me, and I'd never been gladder for the lifeline wrapped around my waist.

Still, the sight of the sea stretched out below me, waves glittering with golden sunset and reflecting the wispy clouds drifting along in the skies above, distracted me from the almost dizzying height. It wasn't until the sail was tied down, and I was back on the solid reassuring deck, that the after-effects really kicked in, and I looked down to see my hands shivering, as if I was cold.

A cool hand grabbed mine. I looked up into Verna's cool gray eyes.

"Good, no rope burn," she muttered, giving me the tiniest of smiles. "I figured you must have had some sailing experience, looking at these calluses. You don't act like it though, so I suppose apprenticing yourself to Neroli was a good idea."

"It was her good idea, not mine," I told her, and frowned in confusion when she chuckled.

"Well, all's well that ends well. To be honest, I didn't know why Pops let you join us at first, but we may be able to make something out of you after all." Verna bobbed a tiny curtsey, and vanished into the galley before I could reply.

I stared after her, feeling conflicted between happiness and confusion. Verna curtseyed to people all the time—it must have been a nervous habit or something—but never before had she curtseyed to me. It made me strangely proud, but her words had put me off balance. I wasn't sure how to take them.

Shaking my head, I followed her inside, collecting my dinner and finding my usual place at Ace's table. I'd think on it over a good meal.

* * *

><p>A few days passed, and the clear skies gradually filled up with clouds as we left the Carolingen climate zone. A couple of fierce squalls battered the Moby Dick, violent winds lashing rain against the deck and stirring up waves whose foam-topped crests reared high above the ship. Afterwards, the sun shone down on us with a vengeance through breaks in the cloud, drying out the sodden ship with surprising speed.<p>

Right now, I was leaning on the railings on the port side of the ship near the bow, soaking up the sun while I could. There was a parade of dark clouds marching closer on the western horizon, puffing upwards and outwards as the storm they bred grew in intensity. Tad, who'd been assigned crow's nest duty for this afternoon, had come out to give warning of them almost half an hour ago. Now the activity on deck was of the sailors rostered onto the current shift preparing the Moby Dick for the coming storm.

A light puff of wind brushed my hair in front of my face, making the sleeves of my shirt flicker against my arms. I shifted, adjusting my weight as the deck rolled lightly underneath my feet. A flicker from the sea caught my attention—the rising wind was kicking up higher and higher waves. Reflecting sunlight made a strong contrast with the darkness underneath the storms. There was a strange smell underneath the brine in the air.

Damini had said that these storms wouldn't be simple squalls. Watching the clouds grow up, upwards and out until they formed a massive anvil shape floating over the sea, stretching across the horizon until they almost filled my entire field of vision, I had no trouble believing her.

I turned away from the sea when the sun was obscured by the outriding clouds on the edge of the storm. The preparations on deck had acquired a new sense of urgency.

A passing man pressed a coil of rope into my hands. "Take that down to the guys at the rear mast, will ya?" he said, and hurried away without waiting for an answer.

Of course, he hadn't really needed to wait. I loped down to the rear mast, and passed the rope to the first person who asked for it. Then someone gave me another length of rope attached to a wooden peg of some unknown purpose, and sent me down to the guys at the tiller with it.

I spent the next half an hour or so running errands for people, keeping me from observing the storm. It came as a surprise when the first roll of thunder boomed across the sky, but by the time the heavens burst open for real, we were ready for whatever the storm might have thrown at us. We spare sailors trooped down below decks, where the cooks had broken out one of the old crates of good rum.

I gathered with everyone else for a bottle of the stuff, but once I had it I found myself a nice quiet corner and sat back, watching as those of the crew who weren't rostered on to work until tomorrow morning proceeded to get massively drunk. Tad wandered over to sit by me, peeling off his sodden bandanna and taking a deep draught of his own drink.

"Good stuff, that is," he sighed, peering down into his bottle. "What're you doing all alone back here, probie? You're missing all the fun."

I shrugged, trying to keep my rum from spilling as the ship lurched underneath us. "What fun? Everyone's just getting drunk."

Tad gazed seriously at me for a moment, before his scarred face split into a disturbing grin. "That's half the fun right there. Don't tell me you've never gotten drunk before."

"Not that I remember." Who knew what I'd done before losing my memories?

"Oh right, the amnesia." Tad cocked his head to the side, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. "That's a sad state of affairs right there. Hey, you know what? I heard of a guy once, some Marine big shot, who lost some important papers. He couldn't remember where he'd put them at all, so he went and had a coupla drinks, and once he was completely plastered he remembered exactly where they were. Maybe it'll work for you too."

I gave him a dubious look. "It's not just papers I've lost, it's my entire life."

Tad shrugged, and drained the last of his bottle, burping happily. "It's still worth a try, hey?" He blinked, his yellow eyes taking on a slightly glassy look. "I know if it was me, I'd try _everything_ I could think of, even if it sounded totally stupid. Ace'd probably laugh at me, but I'd try anyway."

I sat up straighter, narrowing my eyes. That had stung—and yet it felt a little too close to the truth. I screwed my eyes shut, thinking back to that dusty street in Carolinge. My fingers tightened around the smooth glass neck of my bottle. Opening my eyes again, I made a lightning-quick decision, and downed the entire bottle.

Rum stung my throat, warming my stomach like a gentle fire. I took a deep breath, staring at the wooden ceiling of the galley. Beside me, Tad whistled.

"Nice," he said, grinning appreciatively. "You just gotta live a little, see? That's what being a Whitebeard Pirate is all about."

The galley door swung open, and Damini stumbled in, soaked to the skin. Ace followed on her heels, steaming gently. Tad lazily waved them over to our table, grinning at the thin wisps of vapour trailing from Ace's shoulders.

"Pissing down out there?" he asked redundantly. Damini gave him a flat look, peeling the hood of her robe away from her hair.

"What do you think, genius?" Ace flopped down on the chair opposite me, groaning. "I hate storms. Remind me to boycott the next one we hit."

"If I have to suffer through it, so do you." Damini shivered, clutching the table as the Moby Dick gave another violent lurch. "You at least have a fancy quick-dry method."

"Want me to dry you out too?" Ace spread his arms wide, chuckling. "I can do two people at once on a good day. Tad can vouch for me, can't you Tad?"

"Hmm?" Tad paused—he'd been busy swiping his hand through the steam rising from Ace's shoulders, giggling to himself. "Oh, that reminds me, we've got the good rum out. Loki had a bit before."

I blinked owlishly at him as another rumble of thunder split the sky outside, clearly audible even through the ship's walls. "Just a bit?" I could feel it in my stomach, sloshing around like lava. Nice, though.

"Ooh?" Ace let his arms fall to his sides. "You didn't get me one?"

"Get it yourself, you lazy bastard," I found myself saying. Damini looked at me in surprise, but both Ace and Tad roared with laughter.

"Fair enough!" Ace climbed to his feet, pushing Damini towards his seat. "You keep my seat warm, 'Mini, and I'll get you one as well." He looked back at Tad, who waggled his empty bottle hopefully. "And a refill for you, I suppose. Not for you though, Loki, I'm cutting you off. That's what you get for being mean to me!"

_Too late,_ I thought contentedly, drawing my legs up onto my chair and resting my chin on my knees. _I could get used to this._

* * *

><p>I woke up the next morning, and couldn't remember where I was. I stared at the ceiling in the women's cabin for the longest time, slow terror curling through my innards, before something clicked in my brain and I remembered the Moby Dick.<p>

_Pirate, pirate, pirate,_ I told myself, hammering the thought through my head as I clambered out of my hammock and pulled on my Carolingen jacket. _Remember Damini, remember Ace, remember Neroli and Tad and everyone else. Don't you dare forget._

The Moby Dick was big. Even bigger than I'd though simply seeing it from the outside. When I wasn't rostered onto the shift currently sailing the ship, I took to wandering around above and below decks, scouting out all the nooks and crannies Neroli's grand tour had missed. The map in my notebook grew exponentially with all the new notes I was adding to it.

The galley had quickly become my favourite place on the ship. Mealtimes, every single one of them, were loud and raucous and somehow, despite all the thievery and occasional flying food items, fun. Not to mention Destry and the other cooks must have been gourmet chefs in their past lives.

I'd figured out my own way of stopping Ace from nicking my food. Each mealtime, I loaded my plate with two or three times more food than I could possibly have eaten by myself, taking care to put all the food I really liked on the side of the plate that would be furthest away from Ace. Then, all I had to do was stab occasionally at Ace's thieving hands, just to keep up appearances, and soon enough I'd eaten my fill, while Ace would have polished off the rest. Cunning, no?

I think Marco might have caught onto my plan, judging by the amused glint in his eye every time he glanced at me. But no-one else had, and apparently he wasn't planning on saying anything. Damini kept on sighing, Destry asked me why I hadn't decked Ace yet, and Teach just laughed.

Amid the subterfuge and theft that reigned at our table, Damini and I had discovered that mealtimes were good times to ask questions, if we didn't mind people answering through full mouths. I'd learned a lot about the Whitebeard Pirates that way.

The crew numbered sixteen-hundred, divided into sixteen divisions each headed by a commander, and Whitebeard himself held dominion over them all. There were eight ships in the fleet, and the Moby Dick was the flagship. At the moment, we were headed to meet up with the third and fourth divisions, and after them the rest of the fleet at an island called Siwah.

Between then and now, there was another couple of months' worth of open ocean.

I watched Ace out the corner of my eye, his hand inching towards my plate again. It was funny—he was watching Destry quite intently, grinning like he hadn't a care in the world or a thought in his head. His hand almost seemed like it was acting quite independently of him.

"So who's the second division's commander, anyway?" Damini asked through a mouthful of food. "I haven't heard any mention of such a person yet."

"No-one at the moment, actually," Destry replied, raising an eyebrow at her. "Have you been taking lessons in manners from Ace and Teach, by any chance?"

"Hey, leave the girl alone! At least she's got a healthy appetite!" Ace laughed and winked at Damini, his hand just about in range of my fork. "Yeah, so because they have no commander—no second either, now that I think about it—Marco's been looking after them as well as First for the last couple of years, I hear. But he's not the official commander."

Marco nodded slowly, twirling a section of spaghetti around his fork. "Pops has some ideas for who's going to be appointed commander, but we're going to wait and see what happens for a little while yet. There are a couple of relatively inexperienced candidates with the potential to grow into the role."

"Ooh, really?" Ace quickly snatched a bread roll off my plate, and leaned forward over the table, his eyes sparkling with interest. "Who is it?"

Marco gave him a secretive smile. "That would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, you're no fun." Ace threw up his hands in disgust. "Can I have the rest of your spaghetti?"

"I guess so." Marco took one last mouthful, and pushed his plate across the table to Ace, who was looking as if his birthday had come early. "I've got to see Pops, anyway. We'll be meeting up with Third and Fourth tomorrow, and it seems they've got wind of a problem."

"What sort of a problem?" Teach said, his grin replaced by a serious expression that sat oddly on his face. Marco shrugged, languidly rising to his feet.

"Not sure yet, eh. Their den-den mushi is sick at the moment—can't get through more than a couple of words without losing the signal. And Thatch was never very good at summarising."

Judging by the expressions on their faces, Destry and Teach agreed. Ace didn't care either way—he was too busy inhaling the spaghetti.

Once Marco had gone, Destry leaned back in his chair, and sighed. "So, what's the plan for the afternoon, guys? I've got nothing to do, and I'm bored."

Teach shrugged, but Ace's eyed widened in some sort of excitement, and he slurped down the last of the spaghetti and grinned at Destry. "Nero and some of the girls say they're gonna see what Damini and Loki can do in a fight. You should come watch, it might be fun."

That was the first I'd heard of that plan.

"Fun for you, maybe." Damini pursed her lips and scowled down at her empty plate. "Grim's going to be there, and I just know I'm going to end up getting scolded."

Destry shook his head, chuckling. "If that's all that happens, you've gotten off lightly. Man up, Damini."

"How can she?' Ace objected. He paused for a moment to slurp up the last of the spaghetti with a satisfied smack of his lips, and continued, "She's not a man."

"Woman up, then. No, that just sounds weird."

"How 'bout just plain toughen up?" Teach suggested, grinning. He picked a couple of pie crumbs off the table and ate them, licking his fingers clean. "I might come watch. Sounds like it'd fill an afternoon up pretty good."

"We don't need an audience, but I suppose you don't care." Damini deflated, sighing. "It's going to be a long afternoon."

* * *

><p>Damini was dead right. It was going to be a very long afternoon.<p>

Outside it was hot and windy, despite the worst of the sun being hidden behind a thin sheet of cloud. Neroli had decided that they'd hold the sparring session up on deck, in the amphitheatre between the fore and main masts. Even before Damini and I got there, a small audience had formed to watch another sparring match, between an unusually serious-faced Kieran, and Sierra Lee, one of the two most senior women in the crew.

It didn't last long. Both combatants were unarmed, but despite whatever advantage Kieran's superior weight and reach might have given him, Sierra was vastly more experienced. She ducked and dodged around his attacks, weaving a complex pattern of movement before some line of approach lined up, and she darted close between his outstretched arms, slamming her palm into the centre of his ribcage. Knocked off his feet, he flew backwards, tumbling heavily onto the deck.

Cracking her knuckles, Sierra smiled a savage grin of victory at the crowd as Kieran stumbled to his feet. She was just as tall and heavily-built as most of the men, with bare arms covered in dozens of old scars. Her brilliant auburn hair was dreadlocked, tied back in a bunch at the nape of her neck, and her narrowed, laughing eyes were piercing orange. Of all the women, Sierra was the most intimidating. She spoke with a barely contained growl, and moved deceptively lightly on her feet, a trained fighter to the bone.

"Next time, watch my eyes rather than my feet," she told Kieran, who nodded obediently. "They'll tell you my next move before my movements do."

And apparently she was teaching the younger pirates some brawling tricks. Kieran wasn't the only one who was listening intently to her every word.

"Hey, Lee." Neroli grinned companionably at the other pirate as she led Damini and I out into the centre of the amphitheatre. "The newbies are here. Shall we start the test?"

Before Sierra could reply, there was a movement from the audience, and Ace, who had disappeared off somewhere the second we'd left the galley, pushed his way between two burly pirates and into the circle. "Better wait 'til Pops gets here first," he said, grinning mischievously. "He says he wants to see the girls fight for himself.

Damini buried her face in her hands out of sheer nerves.

"You invited him?" Neroli raised an eyebrow at the younger pirate, and slowly started to chuckle. Sierra just threw back her head and laughed.

"Then we'd better put on a show for him, eh? Anyone else wanna fight while we wait for him to turn up?"

A shaggy-haired, bronze-skinned man stepped forward out of the crowd, rolling his shoulders in preparation. I recognised him as Panther, the man who had objected to Whitebeard at the decision to let me join the crew. Occasionally I would feel a prickling on the back of my neck, and turn around to see Panther quietly watching me as I went about my work.

Whenever I caught people staring at me, most of them turned away or tried to pretend they were looking at something else. Panther was one of the few who didn't try to hide it. I wasn't sure what he watched me for, but he seemed like the sort of person who would quit on his own terms or not at all, so I left things as they were.

But right now, Panther's attention was fixed entirely on Sierra. "Bring it on," he said, smirking lopsidedly. "I owe you one for last week."

Sierra grinned wolfishly at him. "If you can, kitty."

Without warning, darted forward to attack. Panther reacted so quickly I almost missed the movement, stepping to her right and spinning around seamlessly into a kick aimed at the side of her head. Sierra blocked it with her forearm and reached out to grab Panther's vest. She yanked him close, driving her free fist into the side of his head with punishing force.

Both combatants stumbled back from each other, Sierra clutching her stomach, Panther pressing a palm to his head. I'd missed the punch he'd landed just underneath Sierra's ribcage.

After a moment's pause, the fight started again. This time it was Panther who pressed the attack, hitting so fast it was all Sierra could do to block, let alone dodge them. It seemed like she was losing at first, as first one punch, then another made it past her defence, thudding into her shoulders. Then, in a movement so fast her form blurred in my vision, she shot past Panther's outstretched arms and smashed straight into him, the impact sending them both tumbling to the deck.

Tall lanky Panther put up a good fight, but burly Sierra had the advantage now. She hooked her leg over his hips, pinning him to the deck, and grappled for his arms. Panther managed to land a backhanded strike on her cheek that sent her reeling, following it up with a lightning-fast shove that pushed her over backwards. Sierra grabbed his shoulder on the way down, tossing him bodily across the deck.

Panther rolled as he hit the deck, jumping to his feet and spinning to face her. He blocked a strike and slid seamlessly into a counterattack, hooking one leg behind her knees and sweeping her off her feet. He tried the same trick she'd used on him earlier, pinning her with his own weight, but Sierra got one leg free and buried it in his gut. Both combatants broke apart, momentarily, wheezing.

Panther recovered first. He leapt forward with catlike speed and grace, wrapping one hand around Sierra's throat. She reacted instantly—reached up and grabbed his face, fingers poised to dig into his eyeballs.

They froze like that for a few moments, perfectly matched. There was a moment of silence—then, Whitebeard arrived, breaking the spell.

"You two at it again?" he said, his voice rumbling out from that great bull-chest of his like distant thunder. Flanked by nurses, he strode over to his chair, and sat down in it, surveying the gathered pirates—a king looking over his court. "What's the score these days? Last I checked it was twenty to twenty-one in Panther's favour."

"Sixty to sixty-three to me," Sierra croaked, her orange eyes flicking across to Whitebeard. "Would be more, but we've had a few draws lately, and Panther won't let me use them as points, even if I give him some too."

Panther's breath hitched unsteadily in his throat. "Draws don't count. No-one wins."

"Yeah, but no-one loses either!" Sierra scowled. "So, uh, you gonna let me go anytime soon."

"On the count of three. One, two—"

Both combatants released their death-grips at the same time. Panther sprang up, blinking in relief, while Sierra sat up more sedately, massaging her throat with an amused grin.

"Hi, Pops," she said, interlacing her fingers and luxuriously stretching them out in front of her. "Nice day for a spot o' fighting, huh?"

Whitebeard grunted, grinning underneath his moustache. "I hear you're plannin' to test the newbies today. Grim given you permission to rough up her apprentice a bit?"

"So long as you don't touch her fingers," the crabby navigator scowled from under the shade of the sails. Marco leant against the mast beside her, smiling faintly. "That girl's got a nice steady hand, and I'll be pissed if any of you lummoxes break it."

"That's only the slightest bit comforting," Damini whispered to me. She pulled the hood of her robe away from her hair, wrapping it around her shoulders and fixing the ends under her sash. Her long black braid spilled down her back, easily brushing the backs of her thighs.

"I didn't know your robe could do that," Ace commented in a low voice, taking a spot in the front row of the assembled pirates. "That's handy for a fight."

"It's one of the reasons I brought this one," she replied. Her voice was steady, but the slight trembling of her hands belied her nerves.

I looked down at my own hands. They looked steady at first, but suddenly there was a weight on my shoulder, and my hands gave a great shudder.

"So who wants to go first?" Sierra asked, looking between Damini and I with a wicked grin on her thin lips. "Antiope will test you, tiddler," she told Damini. "Blondie, you get me. Aren't you lucky?"

I looked at the almost childish glee in her orange eyes, and swallowed nervously. Lucky—that was one way of putting it.

Damini glanced at me, putting on a brave face. "I'll go first. May as well get this over and done with so I can go back to nice pacifistic charts."

Sierra chuckled, pushing her out into the middle of the amphitheatre. "Antiope, we got a smart one here. Let's see what she can do."

Antiope moved out into the open deck, giving Damini an encouraging smile. She was one of the older pirates, her hair solid grey already and her tanned face crisscrossed with dozens of thin scars.

"Are you ready?" she asked, in a voice that was higher and softer than I had expected. Damini paused, then nodded decisively.

Antiope attacked smoothly, and Damini blocked first one punch, then another. She dodged around the older, woman, aiming a kick at her side which was easily blocked. Antiope rocked back on her heels, foot snapping out in a kick. Damini just evaded it, turning neatly to keep Antiope in her sights.

It seemed as though they were evenly matched at first. Then I looked closer, and saw the carefully measured control in Antiope's stance and movements. Damini was giving the fight all she had, but the older pirate wasn't even breaking a sweat.

Then I remembered the entire point behind this match. It wasn't to find a winner—that was a foregone conclusion. Antiope meant to test Damini, to drag out her skill and gauge her potential. Her entire strategy was to push Damini just to her limits, and no further.

She was doing a good job of it, too. Even I could tell that Damini's movements had started out rusty, unpracticed, but as the fight went on she got used to the movements and started to react on instinct rather than conscious thought. I thought back to that evening in Carolinge, how she'd blurted out that she knew how to fight, and started to wonder who had taught her.

"Enough," Whitebeard said, and Antiope instantly broke off the fight. Damini stumbled to a halt, taken by surprise by the sudden lack of an opponent. "Damini, was it? Who taught you how to fight?"

"My uncles," Damini said breathlessly, bracing her hands on her knees and gasping for breath. "I'm from a Guardian kennel originally; I was only at the College because I won a scholarship for the tuition. I started fighting when I was five. Haven't practiced at all since I was ten, though."

"What's a Guardian kennel?" Ace asked, curiosity written all over his freckled face. "I keep hearing of them, but no-one ever remembers to tell me what they are."

"We used to be hereditary guards of Carolinge's kings," Damini explained, straightening to face him properly. "We get taught to fight these days anyway, because no-one wants to let the tradition die out, but since there are no kings to guard anymore we usually tend to go into the Marines."

"I know of the tradition," Whitebeard rumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "You're not bad, but you'd be dead meat in a real fight. You're sticking to the rules too much. Pirates fight dirty—better get used to that."

"You'd also do better fighting with a weapon," Antiope added. "You're too small and light to do much damage to anyone in a fist fight. Find a nice pistol, or a knife or something. Even a staff would do if you prefer that sort of weapon."

"I don't know, I've never used any weapons before," Damini said, her eyes wide and overwhelmed. "I watched my uncles with their glaives, but that's about it."

"Well, that's always a starting point." Antiope motioned her over to the shade of the sails, where Grim sat waiting for her.

Sierra's hand clapped heavily down on my shoulder. I suppressed a wince as she pushed me out into the amphitheatre. My turn was here.

"Now, let's see what you can do," Whitebeard grinned. I had perhaps a second's warning before Sierra's fist slammed into my cheek.

Pain lanced through my skull. I threw myself backwards, dodging her next strike by pure luck. Through some miracle, I stayed on my feet—my only piece of luck. Sierra stepped in close, and the world turned upside down as she tossed me over her hip. I reached out my hand and touched the deck, landing on my shoulder and rolling to my feet.

There was no respite. She tried the same trick again, but this time some voice in my head howled for her blood. I managed to catch her right arm and wrench it around, putting her off-center. A smirk plastered itself across her face as she cocked her fist and struck out again. I instinctually raised my arm to deflect the blow, then saw almost in frozen time as she aimed the same open-handed blow she'd used to defeat Kieran at my stomach.

I reacted almost before I realised it, clenching my stomach muscles and stepping into the blow. I punched her simultaneously, feeling my knuckles graze along her jaw.

A glancing blow, but not one without effect. I threw myself away, wheezing and trying not to think about the raging pain radiating through my midsection, and to my surprise, Sierra paused, rubbing her face thoughtfully.

"That was a surprise. I'd have almost said you've been Marine-trained, but that was a pirate move there if I ever saw one. Focused on dealing damage rather than receiving it."

She leapt in close and punched me again, but I'd been ready for the movement. Ignoring the fading ache in my gut, I buried a solid kick in her gut at the exact moment her fist connected with my jaw.

I saw rather than felt my body hit the deck. Before I could marvel at the sensation of being outside my own body though, my vision flashed black and my head split open with sharp and searing pain. My awareness flashed along my limbs and into my fingers and toes, and I immediately clutched my head, as if that would somehow make the pain go away.

I heard voices exclaim sharply, and paid no attention to them whatsoever. I opened my eyes wide and blinked, going from blackness to a different kind of darkness before my vision returned on the second blink. My sight blurred with involuntary tears—I blinked them away to see Ace looking concernedly down at me, Tad and Neelam's heads bobbing at his shoulders.

"You okay there, probie?" Tad asked, grinning as he recognised the life in my eyes.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Neelam put in, a wide smirk plastered across his monkeyish face. "You just won me a decent prize pool. I should say I expected it, but actually no-one did—that was why it was such a big prize."

"Expected what?" I groaned. A throbbing lance of pain shot through my skull at the words, and I winced, forcing myself not to grit my teeth. The deck under my back was hard and unwelcoming, but it was a more appealing prospect than levering myself up, so I stayed prone.

Sierra's head appeared within my narrow field of vision, grinning lopsidedly. There was an angry red mark on her jaw where I had hit her the first time.

"You actually managed to knock me down, kiddo. Not for long, but I went down, and that's what counts. Dunno if you heard Pops laughing, but if you did, that was why."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Really really," Sierra laughed. "I wasn't expecting such a damn fool move, that's why! Why the hell did you kick rather than try and block me?"

"I figured I was going down either way, and I had a better chance of getting you back if I kicked," I explained. It wasn't really what I'd been thinking at the time, as I'd reacted on pure instinct—but it was how I suddenly thought I would have reasoned it if I had the time."

"A very pirate-like reaction," A cool voice observed. Marco's, I realised, although I couldn't see him yet. I gingerly turned my head, trying to find him, but had no luck.

"How's your head?" he continued from somewhere behind Ace. "Hurting, I wager."

"Like a bitch," I said flatly, wondering where the words came from. I wasn't usually the swearing type, but then again, pain could do strange things to one's inhibitions. Sierra and Ace chuckled.

A new face appeared, peering down at me. This one belonged to an old man, with soft-looking eyes of a curious jade colour, and sandy brown hair shot through with many grey streaks. He had a natty moustache perched underneath a flat nose, and wore a bright red bowtie to boot.

"Her pupils look fine—no dilation beyond what you'd expect when we're all standing in her sun," he said. " Can you stand up, Loki?"

"I could, but it'll hurt," I replied. Blinking, I tried to remember where I'd seen this man before, and abruptly realised I was looking at Lilian Maldive, the first-division head doctor.

"Try anyway," he said, smiling reassuringly. "I don't think you have concussion, although I'm impressed you don't considering how hard Sierra hits people." Beside him, Sierra grinned bashfully before she and the others stepped away.

I braced my hands against the deck, surprised at how little my head twinged when I pushed myself upright. "I feel okay, all things considered."

"Always a good sign," Whitebeard put in, watching me with a considering expression in his yellow eyes. "That is an interesting fighting style you got there. Not quite Marines, not quite pirate either. I'm sure I've seen it before—just can't remember for the life of me where."

I laughed out loud at that, then clutched my head as a fresh burst of pain—weaker than the last—shot through my jaw. "Neither can I."

IV lines glittered in the sun as Whitebeard's huge frame shook with chuckles. "You'll just have to find out the hard way then, brat!" His grin faded slightly, taking on a more serious expression. "It's up to you, and you alone to find it, though. I doubt anyone else would be able to help you."

I cocked my head to the side, my hand drifting down to my neck as I considered his words. It didn't sound like he was talking about my fighting alone… there was something else there, something behind it.

"Just know this, though: it can be found." He nodded once, and pushed himself upright, towering above the rest of us.

"It's in your hands now, Loki. Do what you will with it."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Word Count:<strong> 6821_

_Tad has a Glasgow grin; if you look it up you'll see what I mean. Verna is old, Kieran is old, Sierra and Antiope are old, Lilian is very old. Neelam is new. He'll be my 105th One Piece OC._

_By the way, Damini's robe works more like a sari than a traditional European hood; the hood part is an extra length of cloth that can be wrapped around the shoulders instead. If you look at her character profile (up on dA again), you should see how._

_Oh, and I've never been knocked silly, so Loki's li'l episode up there was completely made up. I know your head can do some strange shit when that happens, but I've hedged my bets for now. If anyone can enlighten me as to what it's like, I'd greatly appreciate it._

**Constructive criticism is, as always, welcomed.**


	7. Out Of Faith

Not all that much changed here, so have an extra chapter. If the next chapter's anything like this one, I may even get it out tomorrow. Now wouldn't that be something! XD

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Six: Out Of Faith_

I rose early the next morning, dressing in silence and emerging onto the deck as the first fingers of a tentative dawn crept over the horizon. This early, the water was black-edged grey, wavetops glittering pale gold, lapping against the hull of the Moby Dick. The dawn flocks of seabirds of mornings past were missing from the skies, and aside from the hushed murmur of the last shift of watchmen going into the galley for breakfast, the air around the ship was quiet.

I followed the last of the watchmen below deck again, into the hallway that led to the galley. Though the dawn light was strong enough to see by now, lanterns still burned in brackets along the wall, their bright orange flames casting a strong, warm light through the ship. The lamps in the galley were still alight as well, though skylights and portholes let the dawn into the room, its grey light warring with the lamps' own glow.

I'd been waking up at dawn for the past few days now, but this was the first time I'd gotten up before everyone else. The ship was completely different without the crew scurrying around wherever I turned. Calmer, yes, but I could feel its own presence, underlaying the lives of the crew. It felt like the Moby Dick itself was alive.

I picked up an apple and chose a seat at the far end of the galley, away from the portholes, where the night's shadows still lingered. There was a kerfuffle of activity in the kitchen- the cooks preparing breakfast for when the rest of the crew woke up. I spotted Destry, instructing one of the younger cooks in the creation of a pie of some sort. The only one of the watchmen that I knew by sight was Sorcha, one of the second division's women.

Slowly, the galley was growing brighter. I watched one of the apprentice cooks flit around dousing the lamps on the walls, before disappearing into the hallway to deal with the rest.

Whitebeard's words from yesterday kept replaying in my head- _"It's up to you and you alone to find it. I doubt anyone else would be able to help you."_

At the time, with the adrenaline thundering through my veins and the clarity of pain still fresh in my head, I'd thought I knew what he meant. Right now, I wasn't so sure. I still got the feeling he hadn't just been talking about my fighting.

But if that was true, I had no idea what he could have meant. I knew my mind worked in a very literal way—sarcasm and metaphors often went straight over the top of my head—and added to this, I still knew very little about the world I'd suddenly found myself in, let alone myself and how I worked.

Eventually, frustrated and exasperated, I took a leaf out of Ace's book and ignored the whole problem. I'd figure out something eventually.

A fair amount of time had passed while I was wrestling with the problem, I realized. The sunlight pouring in through the portholes was stronger now, the grey tinge of dawn gone completely. The ship was beginning to come to life around me; the noises still hesitant and sleepy, but they'd get louder soon enough.

Slowly, quietly, the door to the galley creaked open. I watched Marco slip into the room, that tuft of blonde hair on top of his head looking even more scruffy than usual.

If the crew was a family, with daughters and sons (and grandsons, in at least one case that I'd heard of), and Whitebeard was the father, called 'Pops' by almost everyone, then Marco was the eldest brother, the one everyone else looked up to. In return, he was the one that watched over everyone else, made sure we were all doing okay. I still hadn't decided whether the role he played in the crew was one of command or support.

I watched as he passed the table where the watchmen were sitting, engaged in a raucous, laughing conversation, and added some comment that made them cackle even harder. Most of the watchmen were from the Second Division, but he spoke as if he knew them all equally well. He probably did—Neroli had told me a while ago that he'd been with the crew almost right from the start.

It was almost uncanny how he always seemed to know when he was being observed. I saw one of the watchmen gesture to an empty chair at their table, grinning entreatingly; Marco gently shook his head, and then his eyes lifted to meet mine across the empty galley between us.

I hunched down over the table, resting my chin on my folded arms as he strode over to my lonely little table, pulling out a chair and slouching comfortably in it.

"It seems like every time I look, you're staring at me," he said lightly, resting one arm on the tabletop. "Has it taken this long to form a first impression?" His fingers drummed lightly on the wood. I watched my apple core wobble slightly with the vibration, and shrugged noncommittally. I hadn't planned to answer properly, but the new words sprung unbidden to my lips.

"No. I just watch you because you're interesting."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're blunter than Ace is. What makes you say that?"

I shrugged, not bothering to lift my head from the table, though it made the movement a little awkward. "I don't know. You just are." It was true, I realized, but I had no idea why that was so. Another thing to ponder, I guess. "Good morning, by the way."

Marco smiled, and didn't once shift underneath my gaze. "It is, isn't it? It's going to be bloody hot once the sun gets a bit higher in the sky. You're on today's shift, aren't you."

I nodded, though it wasn't a question. He might have laughed slightly in reply.

"Well, sooner or later we're gonna catch up with the Bluefin, and when that happens, the experienced sailors are gonna handle that, so you'll get a break for the rest of the day. How's your apprenticeship to Neroli going?"

I lifted my head from my arms in surprise. "You know about that?"

His smile crept wider, an amused chuckle springing from his lips. "Of course I do. I make it my business to know what's going on with everyone. To that end, I watch people- just like you do." He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other in one smooth movement. "You're learning from one of those experienced sailors I mentioned before, incidentally. Neroli tells me she's been sailing since she learned to walk, which gives her more experience at it than me."

I let out a slow sigh, thinking over the time I'd spent under her instruction. "It's going pretty well, I guess. I'm remembering everything I need to." _And more that I don't_, I added mentally. My notebook was filling up at a rate that meant I'd need to replace it before long, its pages covered by diagrams of knots and other things that had come up day by day.

Marco smiled approvingly. "And you're willing to work, which makes you pretty popular with the shift managers."

I shrugged. "There's this little voice in the back of my head telling me I'm just dead weight if I'm not useful." My gaze met his for the first time, and I saw a test in those dreamy blue eyes of his. "It's right, too," I added, my lips twisting automatically into a rueful smile. "I don't have any useful skills outside of a fight—and we haven't really had any fights yet, so I'm downright useless."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of loud conversation from the watchmen's table. Marco just watched me, the expression on his face one of quiet appraisal.

"Perhaps you're right about that," he said eventually. "You don't have a lot that makes you useful to us. You can fight, but good fighters are a dime a dozen in the New World. Your amnesia is a problem as well. It's a risk picking up someone like that, because we have no way of knowing what role you played in the world before you lost your memories. Just by existing, you might be putting us in mortal danger. It's a very real possibility in the sort of world we live in."

Something about hearing the words out in the open made me feel trapped, like a rabbit in a snare. The truths dropped, leaden, into my gut, the way they never had before when it was only me thinking them. I felt hollow, and a tightness rose in my chest that I recognized belatedly as fear.

Right then, Marco interrupted my rising tide of thoughts. "Can I ask, what are you thinking now? I can't tell, you see, and that's rare. You've got one hell of a poker face."

"I don't have the emotional capacity to answer," I said. My voice sounded flat and calm—somehow I felt the part of my thoughts that was me, my conscious mind, separating from the emotions. The calm logic that was _me_ pushed through my body; my heartbeat slowed, the sick feeling in my stomach receded, and I wanted to smile, so I did. Marco blinked in surprise.

"That's not something you see every day." He smiled, reflecting my own expression back at me. "I might have to watch you back, Loki."

I understood. That was the kicker—I so rarely understood people, not completely, not even close. Cold, hard facts are my forte, but I'd just had the first conversation that wasn't factual in the way I needed to comprehend it, and yet I'd still understood it.

That was a happy thought. I smiled again, this time slow and small and true.

"So," Marco began, tapping his fingers against the table again, "I said you've got no skill that makes you useful to us." Then his smile broadened, and he added, "Yet."

I looked up at him, my smile fading in surprise.

"You're willing to work—you said it yourself—and you're willing to learn. In time you'll have all Neroli's knowledge of sailing, and experience to go along with it. In time, that will make you useful to us—if you have the will to work to that end. Pops wouldn't have kept you if he hadn't seen potential in you. He's good at picking out the possibilities in people, and once he's got you, he'll draw out that hidden potential. It's a win/win situation for everyone involved, really."

His fingers abruptly ceased their drumming on the table. His blue eyes drooped further closed, and he leaned forward across the table, his smile turning confidential. "So, for now, Loki, do you have a dream? A goal to work for, in any other words?"

I opened my mouth, and the words tumbled out of their own volition. "There's too much to say, and too many directions to name. I just want to know… stuff. Stuff—anything! My mind feels empty right now, and I'm trying to fill it up. It being empty scares me." A sudden thought struck me, and I laughed out loud. "Like an empty pantry might scare Ace! Minds are made for thoughts, and when they're empty it's far too easy to zone out and do nothing. Then when I wake up, and there's so much to be done that I haven't been doing 'cause I've been bouncing around inside my own head. Nothing would ever get done if we didn't think of doing stuff."

Marco grinned at me. "There's your problem, then," he said, folding his arms and nodding decisively. "You're practical. A rare breed among our sort of pirates, I have to say. The practical ones tend to end up jaded and too disillusioned to go chasing off after dreams like we do. But if you can walk the edge between practicality and hanging onto the reasons you went to sea in the first place, then you'll go far, Loki." He blinked suddenly, and curiously cocked an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, why did you come out to sea in the first place?"

I answered without thinking again. "Because I had to."

"What do you mean by that?" The look in his eye told me he already knew what I meant. But it was something I had to answer, as much for myself as for him.

"It felt like I should be out here," I explained. "Every time I looked at the sea, something in the back of my mind was pushing me towards it. I just couldn't live like that, and I wouldn't have wanted to, either."

"No-one can resist the ocean if it calls to you like that," Marco sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring over my head, into the middle distance. "In the old times they used to ascribe it to sirens, calling to a man until he went insane with the longing and jumped ship. Sea madness can happen to anyone on a long voyage, but to have it on land? That's unusual."

"I don't quite want to jump ship," I said, shaking my head. "I just want to cross the horizon. Being out here on the sea is enough to make it less… demanding, I guess. Not so all-important. I can think about other stuff if I want to these days."

Marco gave me a content, knowing smile. "I know. I get that way sometimes as well. There's a few of us that do—just not many."

He sighed again, and pushed himself to his feet, dragging his fingers through his funny clump of hair. "We'll be meeting up with Third and Fourth today, so long as the weather holds. We'll have the experienced sailors on the sailing shifts, so you'll get a break from work today."

"Sounds good," I said, smiling to myself. I'd heard a lot about the third and fourth divisions lately—everyone was gleefully anticipating the coming meeting. "See you later," I added as he drifted away from the table, heading back towards the group of watchmen.

He glanced back over his shoulder, and nodded.

"I will."

* * *

><p>I was up in the rigging a couple of hours after lunch when the third- and fourth-division ship, the Bluefin, emerged out of the haze along the horizon. She had a strong tailwind and was making good progress toward us, so after a quick conversation with Whitebeard and Marco, the shift boss ordered us to stop sailing and wait for the other ship to come to us. So we furled the sails, dropped the anchor, and settled in to wait.<p>

I perched on the end of the lowest spar on the mainmast, and watched the dot on the horizon coalesce into a ship. The Bluefin carried the same design as the Moby Dick, only scaled down somewhat, and the whalehead-shaped bow was painted as blue as the ocean. The wind billowed in her sails, propelling her closer to us.

On the final approach, the more experienced sailors swarmed onto the decks of both ships, the Moby Dick weighed anchor, and we arced through the waves towards the Bluefin. The other ship turned as we did, setting the sails to catch the wind and skim across the water and pull up alongside us. Gently, she drew closer. I could see her own sailors scuttling around on-deck and in the rigging, bringing in sails to slow her forward approach.

Soon her hull was only a yard or two distant from the Moby Dick. Lines were thrown across the gap, lashing the two ships together. I dropped to an empty patch of deck below me to make room for the sailors to furl the mainsail, and gazed across at the pirates on the Bluefin's own deck.

They were a motley lot—not that we first and second divisioners could claim any better, really. Though the great majority of them were men, I spotted a couple of women among their ranks, one working up in the rigging and one standing on the roof of the raised cabin and shouting orders to the crew. Most of them had a weapon or two—pistols, swords of varying shapes and sizes, knives—tucked away in sashes or jacket linings, typical pirate gear.

There was a distant sort of a thump, and a man leapt up onto the Bluefin's railing, then across to the Moby Dick, balancing easily on the side of the ship right in front of where I stood. He grinned out across the massed ranks of pirates on the deck, waving to where Whitebeard sat in his great chair.

"Long time no see! How's it going, old man?"

"Same as usual," Whitebeard replied, raising his voice above the noise of the waves and the raucous greetings of the pirates around him. "Hop down, Thatch, before you fall overboard and Kess has to rescue you again."

"Aww, hey, that was years ago! And I was drunk at the time," Thatch argued, but he stepped down to the deck anyway.

His clothes were incredibly neat, for a pirate- a white jacket with a scruffy yellow scarf tied around his neck, and pants an equally spotless shade of white, ending at mid-calf. His hair was rusty brown, styled in a neat pompadour, and a friendly grin dominated his face, one eyebrow permanently cocked in a quizzical expression. A scar stretched from his left eyebrow down to his cheekbone, the flaw only adding to his air of roguish charm.

"Well, since you ask—so kind of you, by the way," he continued as he strode across the deck to stand in the amphitheatre before Whitebeard, "we had an absolutely hellish journey. I'm so glad we're finally here."

"I didn't ask," Whitebeard rumbled, grinning as he stared down at Thatch. The man only shrugged and grinned in answer.

"Yeah, I know, but I'll pretend you had a sudden attack of concern and did ask for once. First we hit a hurricane- one of those once-in-a-lifetime dealies that turn up every month or so. Then we ran out of rum three or four days ago."

Pops snorted. "Sounds pretty bad, all right. No man should be deprived of rum." When Thatch grinned and looked hopefully up at him, he continued, "But that doesn't give you permission to go racing off and raiding my stores now."

Thatch visibly wilted. "You're a harsh master, Captain."

There was a movement in the crew beside me, and I shifted my attention back as Neroli appeared beside me, grinning.

"That's the fourth-division commander, Thatch," she told me, nodding at him. He'd been joined in front of Pops by Marco and another man, a veritable giant wider in the shoulder than Pops and probably just about as tall.

Neroli blinked. "And that's Jozu, the third-division commander. For such a big man, he moves pretty damn fast."

"So what's happening now?" I asked, looking around the deck. More of the Bluefin's crew had hopped over, and the two crews were greeting each other. Well—the word 'greeting' doesn't really describe what was happening; less of the handshakes and cordial helloes than spontaneous fights, casuals slaps on the back and punches on the shoulder. I saw Panther of all people stumping around, a tiny woman with a five-foot-long sword strapped to her back perched on his shoulders.

Neroli let out a gusty sigh. "For now? Nothing much. Everyone's just catching up. It's been almost four months since we've seen each other." Then her eyes lit up, and a wide smile spread across her lips.

"Oi, Kairos!" she called out across the deck, and strode away.

I stood for a moment, on my own, wondering what to do. Then Ace bounced out of nowhere beside me, with Damini in tow. "There you are! We've been looking for you for ages."

"That's not really an exaggeration, either," Damini confided in me. "You can really disappear in plain sight sometimes." She frowned, and resettled her hood over her hair. "It makes finding you a job and half, let me tell you that."

"Yeah—you've got an imperceptible presence, just like Marco." Ace grinned at me, his hands planted firmly on his hips. He'd deigned to wear a shirt today, but left it unbuttoned, showing off a perfectly muscled chest and abdomen. "Anyway, we're going down to the kitchens. All the cooks have come out here, so there's no better time to raid the fridges! Then you gotta meet all the guys. I'll introduce you!"

"You know everyone, don't you," I said, splitting my attention between Ace and the growing crowd around us. The last time I'd seen so many people in one place had been the port in Tusanto—and how long ago that seemed!

"Yeah, pretty much," Ace laughed, not a hint of boastfulness in his voice. "When I joined, Third and Fourth crewed this ship as well. And the fleet was all together at that time, too. So I met a load of people all at once." He grabbed Damini's wrist again, and strode off through the crowd, tugging Damini after him. She didn't look too displeased with being manhandled in such a way, I noticed.

I followed them, figuring I had nothing better to do at the time. When everyone around you is catching up with old friends, that leaves no room for anyone who doesn't share the same experiences. None of them even noticed me as I wormed through in Ace's wake.

Ace was right—it was pretty much deserted below decks. I followed him through the hallways to the back entrance to the kitchen, and gingerly stepped through the door after him.

The kitchen was almost deserted, but not quite. Teach sat at the bench, stuffing raspberry pie leftover from last night's dinner into his mouth.

He looked up guiltily as Ace burst out into raucous laughter, then grinned, his teeth stained as red as his eyes by the berry juices. "So you had the same idea as me, huh?" he said, swallowing his current mouthful. "I shoulda known!"

"Aw, man," Ace chuckled, calming down slightly. "You never miss an opportunity, do you? That pie any good."

The smile fled Teach's face like a rabbit down a hole. "Get yer own, brat," he growled protectively, hunching over the pastry with a spare fork poised in his other hand.

"Fine, fine," Ace waved his hand dismissively, still wickedly eyeing the pie. "Damini, Loki, look at all the food in here! It's a smorgasbord!"

"I'm surprised you know that word," Damini grinned, crossing over to the butcher's block in the center of the room and inspecting the salted ham that sat upon it.

Ace blinked. "Why wouldn't I? It sounds funny. And it describes food, which is the important part."

"Who taught it to ya?" Teach asked through a fresh mouthful of pie.

"My little brother!" There was a new smile replacing the grin on Ace's lips—proud and amused and affectionate in equal parts. "He knows a load of words for food, even if he doesn't use 'em much. It's so he can tell when people are talking about it."

"I didn't know you had a brother," Teach grinned. Damini and I looked on in interest.

Ace grabbed a ham leg from the butcher's block and sat down on a clear part of the bench, still smiling. "He's three years younger than me, so he had to stay back at the village when I left to become a pirate. Mainly I stay quiet 'cause I don't want anyone to be able to find him if they decide to use him against me." In a couple of massive bites, the ham leg was completely devoured. Ace chewed a couple of times, and swallowed, looking rather strained as the massive mouthful refused to go down properly. "And he eats even more than I do."

"I find that hard to believe," Damini commented, as Ace gave up merely trying to swallow and dumped a pitcher of water down his gullet in an effort to shift the meat.

"Well, it's true," Ace croaked, then sighed—he must have managed to swallow the ham in the end. "I think he's powered by meat. If you want to make him hyper, you don't give him sugar, you give him ham."

"Zehahaha! What a kid!" Teach guffawed. "I bet you can't wait until he gets out here."

Ace shrugged, and filched another leg of ham. "Yeah, I can't. It'll be, ah, _interesting_ to see, but then again, he gets into trouble like nobody's business, so I'll probably end up worrying non-stop." He frowned at the ham, then lifted his eyes to glare at the massive fridge on the other side of the room. It had a heavy padlock on the door- I guessed that to be the source of his ire.

"Hmmm… hey, Teach… d'ya reckon they mighta left the fridge unlocked?"

Laughing, Teach shook his head. "Not if they've got any brains at all! You could try it anyway though."

Ace pouted. "No point. Destry's too cunning. Unless… maybe he figured that I'd know he was cunning, and maybe he left it open 'cause he

thinks I'd think he'd lock it without bothering to check…"

He trailed off, and hopped to his feet again, padding suspiciously over to the fridge.

"Three… two… one…" Teach counted under his breath.

A wail of disappearing hope issued from the fire Logia as the fridge proved to be locked. Teach chuckled lightly.

"I checked it earlier, Ace. Looks like Destry ain't leavin' anything to chance."

Damini giggled. "I guess he's too cunning for you, hm?"

"Shut up," Ace retorted, moping back to his bench seat. "Someday I'm gonna get even with him, and when that day comes, you guys are gonna know aaaaaaaall about it."

* * *

><p>The lunch club almost doubled in size that night, so at dinnertime we spilled out the door and into the amphitheatre. A good few of the other occupants of the galley followed us out into the sunset as well, crowding across the deck and filling the cool evening air with talk and laughter.<p>

Whitebeard's chair was empty for now, the nurses having persuaded him to go below decks and let them do a long-overdue checkup. We sat near it anyway, knowing he'd come back as soon as he thought the nurses had done enough poking and prodding. As usual, Marco perched on the railings spanning the circumference of the amphitheatre, behind and to the left of the great chair. Ace and Teach sat cross-legged on the lowest terrace, and tried to filch each other's food. Damini and Destry sat just out of arm's reach, leaning back against the side of Whitebeard's chair, while I sat down on the top terrace and lounged against the railings.

We'd been joined by five of the Bluefin's crew: Jozu and Thatch, the third and fourth division commanders, Kestrel, Thatch's first mate, and two of Jozu's crew I hadn't been introduced to yet. The three third-divisioners sat in a loose semicircle between Destry and Teach, while Kestrel settled on the step below me and Thatch lounged about on the deck in front of Marco.

Thatch had a wicked smile, with enough different versions to it to rival Ace's changeling grin. Most often he directed it at Destry and Kestrel, who seemed to be his favourite targets for good-natured teasing. Ace received a slightly different version, as befitting his suddenly all-too-apparent status as Thatch's partner in crime. The rest of us received another different smile, this one simple and friendly, with a bit of curiosity when he directed it at Damini and I.

Kestrel was a completely different story—confident and straightforward, and somehow capable of smiling without moving her lips. She was black-haired, copper-skinned, and exotic, with the beginnings of laugh lines around the corners of her eyes. Wiry muscles told of a hidden strength in her somewhat spindly limbs. Damini had started to regard her with an amazed sort of hero-worship since sometime late this afternoon.

Jozu was the huge man I'd seen talking with Pops, Thatch and Marco earlier. His massive frame was covered with the sort of muscle that has no real outward definition, so at first glance he just looked huge and kind of fleshy, but I was fairly sure that in a pinch, Jozu would have proved to be the strongest person possibly that I'd ever met. Physically, at least. He smiled a lot too, and though his face looked a little bit stern and scary, when he smiled it took years off his age.

He introduced the two other third-divisioners as Jimmu and Dollface. The former was a stoop-shouldered, slightly duck-footed old sailor with bushy, fiery red muttonchops, and the latter was a tiny, petite woman with the wide blue eyes and perfect, delicate features of a porcelain doll. Jimmu smiled at us when he was introduced; Dollface just nodded.

None of them were particularly big eaters, either—at least, not enough to rival Ace or Teach. Exposure to those two had raised my standards in that area somewhat. Dollface, who sat next to Teach, occasionally had to fend off their thieving hands from her own plate, but I'm not sure why they kept on trying to steal from her when her slaps left nasty bruises behind on their hands.

Thatch and Jimmu were the talkers. Dollface and Jozu mainly sat and watched, their expressions vaguely incredulous and amused as Thatch talked himself around in a circle, losing the plot completely with a few choice comments from Kestrel and Marco (who, I was beginning to suspect, had a well-disguised, but mile-wide evil streak).

It was Whitebeard that started it all, having just emerged from the cabin with a couple of the senior nurses in tow. We all looked up as he stumped across the deck, our circle expanding automatically to include him.

"You should be resting now, you know," the blonde nurse gently chided him, disapprovingly clicking her pen against the back of her clipboard. Her name was Layla, I distantly remembered, and she was the queen bee of all the nurses, pretty in an icy sort of way.

"I am resting," Pops grunted shortly, lowering himself into his chair. "The salt air'll do me good, anyway."

"If it did any good, we would have seen some improvement in your condition by now," Layla said calmly, but gave a sigh and acquiesced. "Fine, but not for long."

She turned and stalked back across the deck, her high-heeled boots clicking against the wood. The odd stare followed her long, long legs, but for the most part the men of the crew were too used to the nurses to notice her.

Whitebeard gave her a look that clearly said, 'I don't need your permission, and I'm sure enough of that fact that I don't need to say it out loud'. Then he coughed—a dry sort of cough, not the wet hacking that brought the nurses running from wherever they were, but enough that Layla shot him a concerned look back over her shoulder.

Pops was sick, was all I knew. The breathing tubes and IVs that hung across his massive frame made that much evident. Most of the time people avoided the subject, but I caught the worried looks that passes from crewmate to crewmate when they thought no-one was looking.

Those same looks were doing a circuit of the deck now. I'd expected the commanders to be the most concerned, but right now, I couldn't tell what they were thinking one way or the other. Thatch in particular had a good poker face—not just remembering to keep his expression blank, but stopping the other little signs of stress, like tensed muscles and stiff posture.

"Judging from that, I'm sure I don't need to ask how it went," he said. He grinned cheekily at Pops, who waved a dismissive hand.

"Same as usual. A lotta talk and not much information. I gotta get a translator to tell me what they're actually saying sometimes."

"Well, you know, they're nurses, we're pirates. Completely different aims, y'see," Jimmu shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I bet they don't understand what we're on about half the time either."

"You're altogether too underestimating of them," Destry put in, watching guardedly as Ace shuffled minutely closer to his plate. "They're much cleverer than that. I should know, seeing as I'm married to one of them."

Ace shivered, though it wasn't anywhere near cold and even if it had been, he wouldn't have felt it. "Your wife is just a monster, Destry."

"Prosper'll kill you if she hears you say that," Destry shot back, taking off his sunglasses and giving the lenses a quick polish. "You're already deep in her mental doghouse. If I were you I'd avoid going any deeper."

"What got you in so much trouble?" Damini asked, curiously raising an eyebrow at Ace. He shook his head, grimacing uncomfortably.

"Let's just say I tried to play a trick on Destry, and got his wife instead."

"So that's why Prosper hates you so much," Pops observed, grinning. "I'm impressed. I didn't think anything could rattle her nerves that much."

Ace gave him a pleading look. "Subject change? Please? I feel like I'm treading on a minefield here."

Snickering loudly, Thatch took pity on him. "I guess we can figure out something. Oh—Pops, newbies and oldies, what d'ya think of our ship?" He waved expansively at the Bluefin, lying in the waves alongside the Moby Dick. "Her full name's the Bluefin Princess, but we shouldn't have let Kestrel name it when she wasn't entirely sober, so we just call her the Bluefin for now."

"Well, I don't know much about ships yet, so it just looks very shippy to me," Damini said dryly. Ace fell about laughing, and Thatch looked scandalized.

"In that case," he began, "your first lesson is this: Ships are always called 'she'. Don't know why, considering it's a term of respect, and the first possible reason that comes to mind isn't very respectful at all—but it's something ever sailor has to know. Okay?"

Damini nodded seriously. "Okay. What is the first reason you were thinking of?"

Thatch suddenly looked hunted. "If you don't know, I'm not going to be the one to tell you. Anyway, she's basically the same design as the ol' Moby here, just smaller. Double-hulled too, and she carries thirty-six guns. Not a bad little ship, if I do say so myself."

"She's a beauty to steer, too," Dollface put in. "She handles brilliantly, and everything's in its right place."

"Good," Whitebeard grunted. "Might have to visit those shipyards sometime. Convey my thanks properly, hm?"

"Yup," Teach grinned through a full mouth, eyeing the Bluefin through the evening light. "Hey, Thatch, what was that problem you were talking about in that last message you sent us?"

"Hm?" Thatch blinked, then his expression cleared as he remembered. "Oh, it's nothing big, if you were wondering. Seems like there's a new crew trying to nibble away at our territory, Pops." He frowned in intense concentration. "Now what was the name of the island again?"

"Kiiroen," Jozu supplied succinctly. Thatch grinned.

"That's the bunny! Not too far from here in the grand scheme of things." He exhaled deeply, lounging back against the flat deck. "What should we do about it, Pops?"

"They're a relatively new crew—fresh from the West Blue, apparently," Jozu added. "I got Jimmu to do a little bit of looking around. Two captains, and each of them has a bounty over a hundred million."

"Both of them have Devil Fruit powers as well," Jimmu said, nodding slowly. "I spoke to a man who'd seen them in action. One of them apparently gutted a man just by touching him. No weapons—he just grabbed the man's hand, and according to my source, the guy's belly just split open like someone had taken a length of cheesewire to it."

Ace whistled, long and slowly. "Sounds scary! What about the other one?"

"No information." Jimmu shrugged, grinning lopsidedly. "You know what it's like when that happens. She'll be a real murderer."

"'She'?" Destry echoed. The third-divisioner nodded, scratching at his muttonchops.

"A real beauty, apparently. Styles herself a 'pirate queen'. The only thing anyone who's seen her agrees on is that she's dead sexy, in a black-widow sort of a way."

Whitebeard grunted dismissively. "'Pirate queen', my ass. Any more information on the crew?"

The third-divisioner shook his head wordlessly.

"Alright then." Sinking back in his chair, our captain grinned sharply. "I'll think on it for now. We can't let them get away with it, or sooner or later everyone and their dog'll start nibbling away at what's ours. How to go about stopping them, that's the trick."

Then his gaze fell on the empty tankard, sitting on the crate beside his chair. His gaze sharpened.

"Why haven't we got any booze out here, Destry? You being a cook _and _a pirate, you of all people oughta know just how big of a crime against nature that is."

And amid loud laughter from Ace, Teach, and pretty much everyone on-deck at the moment, Destry went to fetch a barrel from the hold.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Word Count: <strong>6292_

_Jimmu, Dollface and Kestrel have mini-profiles on my dA gallery, so go look there if you're curious. Loki, Damini and Lilian Maldive have full profiles, I should mention, so if you're curious and don't mind spoileriffic information, go have a look. _

_Also, I'm going to start writing an Ao no Exorcist fanfic next week. My plan is to alternate fics with each week- so this week I work on Roofies, then next week I work on AnE. Depending on my workload, I may get a chapter of each done per week—but I really, _really_ should not make any promises given my track record with them._

_Now, bye-bye, I'm off to cook dinner. Mmmm, steak…_

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed Here!-**


	8. Give Me Nights Of Solitude

Well, I said I was going to work on Roofies this week, so I did. It killed me to stop with my AnE stuff, but stop I did. Aren't you so proud of me?

Also, it occurs to me that I've been really slack about replying to reviews lately. I really have no excuse, because my palsy is all but gone now. So, uh… sorry, and I'll endeavour to do better this time!

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Seven: Give Me Nights Of Solitude_

Whitebeard joined the lunch club for the next day's dinner. Thatch made a fuss over how we didn't have any chairs inside the galley that were big enough for him, but Pops didn't seem to care. He sat cross-legged on the floor, still tall enough that he towered over the rest of us at the table.

I learnt that Ace really didn't pick and choose whose plates he stole food from. While Whitebeard was absorbed in conversation with Jozu and Marco, Ace casually reached out and filched a slice of steak from his plate. The steak disappeared down the fire logia's throat in a heartbeat, and when Pops turned to scowl suspiciously at him, all he received in reply was an innocent smile.

Ace didn't push his luck again, though.

"So what are we going to do about Kiiroen Island, Pops?" Thatch piped up interestedly, as we all sat back after every plate had been emptied. "Have you decided yet?"

Whitebeard gave him a sidelong look. "Raring to go, are you?"

"Of course!" Thatch grinned widely, cracking his knuckles so loudly Destry winced. "It'll be something to break the boredom, at least. Wait 'til the winter islands pass their solstices, and then we'll see more tough guys out here on the ocean, but until then there's hardly anyone, and it's kinda boring."

"Hmph," Whitebeard grunted, his mouth an amused slash underneath his moustache. "I didn't know you were that bored."

Thatch grinned, leaning forward and placing his hands flat on the table. "You know me, Pops, I live for excitement. So, what's the plan?"

"Nothing special." Pops folded his arms decisively, leaning back against the closest chair. "Two divisions should be plenty for a crew that size. Go to the island, check out the situation, and deal with it as you see best. You should be able to act for yourselves, in any case."

"That's all?" Thatch pouted, and the expression was hilarious when applied to a grown man like him. "Well, I suppose a new crew like that doesn't need much of a force. So who's going?"

Whitebeard pointed first to Marco, then to Thatch. "First—you guys haven't seen much real action in a while, so I'll bet you need the exercise. Fourth, you'll go with 'em. Third stays here—there's something I need to talk to you about, Jozu." Whitebeard glanced at Marco. "You know what I'm talking about, Marco, so you'll tell Thatch, seeing as I haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Will do." A secretive smile slipped onto Marco's lips as Whitebeard turned his attention elsewhere. Ace and Damini shared a suspicious glance.

Destry cleared away the table, disappearing into the galley after one of the junior cooks. The rest of us waited patiently as Whitebeard finished off his current tankard of beer (which was easily the size of my head, if not considerably bigger.)

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he grunted suddenly, scowling at Marco and Thatch. "You can't be waiting for me to tell you to get lost."

Marco chuckled, and rose to his feet, smiling as he headed for the deck. "No, we're good, Pops." He paused at the door, and said, "Loki, Damini, you go tell the ladies to get their stuff ready. Ace, you and I will handle the guys. We'll leave for the island tomorrow morning- early, so get everything ready to swap with Third tonight. No delays."

"Alright!" Ace said as he bounced out of his seat. "What is it that you need to tell Thatch? Anything interesting?"

The first-division commander gave him a mysterious smile. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough, Ace. For now, it remains a secret."

"Phooey." Ace stuck his tongue out at Marco. "Tease."

Outside, the sun shone sporadically from a sky marbled with puffs of cloud. A seagull glared at me from its perch on the railings as we made our way over to the stairs that led to the womens' cabin, its feathers ruffling in the steady wind.

"Ace looks about half his age when he acts so childish," Damini giggled, descending first. "He reminds of my little brothers, just a bit. How old is he, anyway?"

"Nineteen," Neroli called up to us. She lay with her arms crossed behind her head in her hammock, the closest one to the stairs. "You wouldn't know it, would ya?"

Verna snorted, tossing a dust bunny at the older woman. "So what's happening with Kiiroen Island? Pops decided on a plan of action?"

Damini nodded, and the other women in the room sat up, attentive gazes fixed on her. "First and Fourth are going to take care of the trespassers, so Commander Marco wants us to get all our crap ready to transfer to the Bluefin tonight. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

A few of the Second Division women groaned morosely. "So First gets all the fun, huh?" Sorcha grumbled good-naturedly.

Neroli lazily waved a hand at her. "Hey, you guys got the last fight. It's our turn now. We don't get one more night on the ol' Moby Dick, 'Mini?"

"Nope," Damini shook her head, kneeling down beside the storage chest she shared with me and flipping the lid open. "Tonight we're on the Bluefin. I'd get started packing if I were you. Commander sounded like he meant business."

Antiope sighed as she carefully rolled off her hammock, settling down on the floor and stuffing a battered old key into the lock on her own chest. "Say goodbye to a good night's sleep tonight, ladies. It'll take a while to get used to that ship."

"How come?" Damini asked curiously. I knelt down beside her, listening idly as I started sorting out my own stuff.

Antiope gave her a knowing grin, the scars on her face going pale as they stretched. "The Bluefin's a smaller ship. The waves affect it more. If the wind stays like this overnight we'll be rocking and rolling 'til the brink of dawn."

From the floor somewhere behind her hammock, Keiko gave a heartfelt groan. "Of all the rotten coincidences. It just _had_ to be that time of the month!"

The other first-division women made various consoling noises. I tuned them out, and focused on my things.

There was so little in my side of the chest it was almost pitiful. Damini had her robes and shoes, the books she'd brought and a sheaf of notes. I had my notebook, my pencils, and my wrap.

I picked my stuff out anyway, opening out the woollen wrap to shake the dust off of it. I hadn't worn it yet; since we'd left the Carolingen climate zone the weather had been warm enough that I didn't need it.

Where the cottom wrap was bright lime green, almost yellow at the ends of the sleeved, the woollen jacket was dark red. Birds fluttered through delicate vines and reeds on the sleeves, while waves crashed over rocks along the bottom hem. There was a bronze cord running around the garment at about waist level; once I got around to wearing it, this would tie it closed in the cold.

I stared at the garment for a moment, before unceremoniously stuffing it into my shoulder bag. The notebook and pencils followed, rather more carefully.

That done, I set the bag down on my hammock and surveyed the rest of the cabin.

Being pirates, I wasn't surprised to see that none of the other women's bins were exactly overflowing with belongings. Anything without an obvious use was just dead weight.

But closer inspection revealed a few surprises.

Antiope had a sizable collection of pieces of rock. Obsidian, pumice, what might have been jade, and other rocks I couldn't identify, all pieces smaller than a clenched fist. Neroli vigorously polished a penguin made of glass, and wrapped it carefully in a woollen square before packing it away in her bag. Verna kept several dried and pressed flowers between the pages of a book.

Sierra Lee had nothing apart from her clothes. Those she left on her hammock, and strode over to the ladder, roughly slapping me on the shoulder on her way past. "Loki, if you've got nothing better to do, I'm gonna need a hand checking the gunpowder stores."

"Okay." I scrambled to the floor, and followed her out on deck, where most of the second division were lazing around in the sun. No-one from First was anywhere to be seen.

The way to the gunpowder stores led through the galley, and out the back of the kitchen. Technically the room that housed it was part of the hold, but it was reinforced and set apart from the rest of the hold with a skin of solid iron. I hadn't had to ask why there was such protection around the room, but Sierra explained anyway.

"If a lucky cannon shot ever went through here, it could fire the whole store. That'd be a fatal wound for this old ship, without a doubt."

I nodded silently. The room was almost perfectly aligned in the middle of the ship. If the gunpowder blew, there was a very real possibility it might blast the Moby Dick in half.

Shuddering, I pushed that thought out of my mind. Even considering it felt too much like ill-wishing.

The gunpowder was stored in small kegs. Sierra's job consisted of checking the powder for dampness, mold or other imperfections that could cause it to misfire, or simply refuse to fire at all. My job was just to follow her around with a pot of red paint, and put a mark on the lid of any keg that was damp, or moldy.

It was a slow, tedious job, but it filled in the time adequately. When we'd finished, everyone else had finished packing, and it was time to shift the First Division onto the Bluefin.

First and Third had all gathered on the decks of our respective ships, with Second and Fourth hiding out of the way in the ships' cabins. Gangplanks had been set up between the Moby Dick and the Bluefin, and the ropes tethering the ships to each other had been tightened, pulling them closer.

There was no nice and orderly set time at which we all began to move onto the other ship. It just happened all at once. People abandoned the planks, and just jumped from one ship to the other when they ran out of patience with the slow lines. I heard a splash as someone fell in, and then another splash as someone who could swim went in after them.

And somehow, from nowhere, there came a laugh, that echoed through the crowds and gained in volume as it went. I grinned as it passed through my ears. It was a happy sound, an amused sound, and it shared that feeling with everyone.

I scrambled across the plank when it was my turn, and stood still on the deck of the Bluefin for a moment, adjusting to the strange new swell of the deck beneath my feet. Antiope had been right when she said that the waves would affect the Bluefin more.

I moved out of the way of the pirates coming across behind me, looking around for a familiar face. I still didn't know most of the crew, not by name at least. I saw Jimmu and Dollface, the two third-divisioners who regularly sat with the lunch club heading the other way to the Moby Dick. Tad had been one of the guys who ended up in the sea—he was probably still swimming around down there, waiting for someone to throw him a rope.

I headed slowly towards the bow, wondering if I'd get a better view of the ship from there. On the way, I nearly ran into Neroli.

She was standing with Keiko, Verna, and two women I didn't know, in the middle of the deck near the raised cabin. I saw her just in time, halting awkwardly as she automatically stepped away from me.

"It's a bit hard to see people with this crowd on-deck, isn't it?" She chuckled, grinning commiseratively at me. "Forest for the trees, that sort of thing."

I nodded, adjusting the strap of my bag. The first of the new women laughed, a soft, breathy noise.

"Not to worry, newbie! You'll learn soon enough." She wiped a thin ginger fringe out of her eyes, plump lips curing into a smile. "Nero, I think she needs an introduction."

"Hey, I was getting there! Loki, this is Kairos." Neroli slung her arms around the woman's shoulders, grinning wickedly. "And that stolid lump over there is Valentino Kali. Not sure where Thera got to, she was here a moment ago."

"She got tired of the talking," Kali said, shrugging coolly. "I can't blame her."

I couldn't help staring. Kali was very pretty, with fine cheekbones and a straight, slim nose. Her hair was short-cropped, blacker than midnight and cut to a thick fringe shadowing smoky grey eyes. She had brilliant copper skin, and was wearing plain clothes—a wraparound jacket patterned with dots and crosses, a sash around her waist with a short sword stuck through it, and calf-length grey pants—that nevertheless looked stunningly exotic on her.

A complex tattoo danced in twists and loops down her forehead, across her eyelids, and thinned to a point just above her jawline. Tiny dark tendrils of ink spread away from it across her cheek and eyelid, probably repeating the pattern on her forehead underneath her fringe. It gave a sharp, precise edge to her beauty, like the blade on a ceremonial sword.

She shifted impatiently under my gaze, and strode over to me, her neat eyebrows drawn together in an intense frown. "If you're going to stare, get it over with quickly. Listening to Kairos gives me enough of a headache when I'm not being watched."

"I think I'm done now." On closer inspection, I realized that her tattoo covered a pitted scar that carved a deep slice down her face. It looked as though the wound had festered before it had a chance to heal. With a wound that size, Kali was lucky to be alive. "If it's that bad, why are you still here?"

"I'm waiting for Tad Russ," she said, her scowl deepening as a dark blush spread across her cheeks. "You didn't see where he was, by any chance?

"He fell overboard. I think Panther went in after him." I bit back a chuckle as Kali's eyes widened comically.

"Of all the silly asses! I'd expect it from Ace, but I thought Tad had more brains than that." She hurried off into the crowd, muttering under her breath. Kairos and Neroli shared a knowing glance.

Sierra emerged out of the crowd, her half-empty bag slung effortlessly over one shoulder. "You lot, I'm lost," she said petulantly, flicking a stray auburn dreadlock over her shoulder. "Where do we dump our stuff?"

"Oh, there's no set place," Kairos explained, grinning. "Just find a cabin with an empty hammock and dump your stuff in it. We girls don't have our own cabin on this ship, so you'll have to get used to the guys bouncing around."

"Eh," Sierra grinned, shrugging. "I grew up with older brothers, so I've had the practice." She grabbed my shoulder and propelled me into the crowd, laughing wickedly. "Come on, Loki, let's go find a berth before all the good ones get taken."

* * *

><p>I ended up in one of the bigger cabins, sharing with twenty of the guys and three other women. Ace, Tad, Kieran and Neelam had piled in the door scant seconds after Sierra and myself, welcomed by exuberant shouts and lots of banter.<p>

I did miss Destry and Teach at dinner, but the fourth-division guys made up for their absence with typical gusto. I was beginning to realise that is was practically required in a Whitebeard Pirate.

The deck was silent and empty when I emerged from the cabin that night. The sky was clear, uncountable millions of stars splashed across the arch of the heavens, shining noiselessly down on us. The moon was nearly full, languishing low on the starboard horizon, and a path of white light reflected of the surface of the still ocean. I spotted the silhouettes of three watchmen up in the rigging, outlined flat against the stars.

It was a clear, cold night. I shivered, hugged my arms close in against my body, and wished I'd had the foresight to grab my jacket as well as my notebook when I'd left the cabin. My thin t-shirt and shorts really didn't provide enough insulation from the cold.

The wavelets lapping against the hulls of the two ships came echoing up between them, somehow only deepening the silence between each little sound. I stepped backwards, and leaned against the cabin wall, feeling the rough grain of the wood against my bare arms. The silver moonlight coated everything in its path. It was one of those nights where the sheer brightness of the entire atmosphere makes it like a pale imitation of daylight.

I didn't like nights like that. Normal night has its own purpose; it shouldn't go around pretending to be day.

I ducked into the light of a brazier around the side of the raised cabin in the middle of the deck, hunching my shoulders against the cold night. It brought forth a question in my mind: What exactly was I doing?

I'd woken up perhaps an hour ago, my muscles thrumming with misplaced energy. It was fortunate that my hammock had no bedposts to creak, or else I'd have woken up everyone in the cabin with my incessant tossing and turning. No matter how I lay, sleep would not come.

Somewhere around two in the morning I gave up and escaped to the deck.

There was a cool wind blowing, raising goosebumps on my arms and making me shudder when it ghosted across the back of my neck. I fumbled with the tie around my hair, and dragged it out, running my fingers between the strands and combing it down over my neck. It would make an adequate scarf for as long as I stayed out here.

Frustration is a hard emotion to get rid of. Right now, everything was annoying me. The cold wind, the whispering of the waves against the ships, everything felt like spiteful laughter.

Running away is an acceptable option when you have no other choice. I turned and fled into the Bluefin's galley.

It was almost deserted. Not surprising, considering the early hour. A couple of cooks still clattered around in the kitchen, finishing up on last-minute projects, and Fourth's navigator sat at a well-lit table by the wall, scanning maps and reams of notes that sat scattered across the table in front of him. I steered well clear of him—in his eyes was the glint of a man possessed by his work.

I found a table near the back of the room, on the edge of the circle of light cast by one of the lamps that flickered on the wall. Dragging a chair into the position I wanted, I sat down, my back to the wall, facing out into the galley so I could keep an eye on things. I tucked my feet up onto the chair, and braced my notebook on my thighs, flipping it open.

By now, it was almost three-quarters full. On a good day, I could fill three pages on both sides with writing and drawings. There was barely any blank space left once I'd finished with a page.

I tapped my pencil once against the page, near the top, and absently started drawing. I never had anything particular in mind when I started drawing, but sooner or later something would present itself.

This time, the pencil strokes carved out the shape of Neroli's glass penguin on the page. Smooth, simple, stylized, with the outlines of flippers simply etched into the glass, a long blob for a body stretching out into a head, and small tongues of glass for feet and a beak where the glassblower had gotten a pair of tongs and manually stretched the glass into shape. Damini had taken me to see a glassblower at work in Carolinge once, and the heat and smell inside his workshop flooded my memory now. I saw the glow of the molten glass being pulled from the kiln, heard the muted roar of the flames that had heated it.

Pencil on paper is a poor substitute for the real thing, and all the sensations it brings. Frustrated, I abandoned the penguin, and doodled a spiral in the middle of the page, with lots of other spirals branching off from it. Spirals would do for now.

A shadow fell across me, spilling across the paper and covering my spirals in darkness. I looked up.

"You're up late," Marco said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How come?"

"I could say the same to you," I retorted, my frustration boiling over. "I just can't sleep. Where'd you come from all of a sudden?"

"I've just been on watch, actually," he explained, pulling out a chair and flopping gracelessly into it. "How's that for an excuse. And it's not unusual to have trouble sleeping when you're on a different ship to the one you're used to. Sometimes your body just takes a while to adjust."

"That's a relief," I said acerbically. "I _like_ sleeping."

Marco grinned. "So do we all." He fell silent abruptly, and watched me draw for a while.

It was a comfortable sort of silence. I felt myself grow calmer, as if he'd wrapped that serene presence of his around me and let it sink in. Frustration became a distant memory.

When he broke the silence, it was considered and deliberate. "What is that book, anyway?"

I added another spiral to my mass of them. "It's just a book. Damini bought it for me in Carolinge. Said I might like something to keep my memories in other than my head, since my head doesn't seem to be too trustworthy."

"So that's how you ended up together," he muttered, frowning thoughtfully. "And you were in Carolinge at the time? That's… odd. Carolinge is pretty safe, compared to the rest of the New World."

"You say that like I'm a mystery, or a puzzle to be unraveled," I said, pausing in my drawing. He met my gaze, and smiled.

"Perhaps. I like puzzles. Figuring them out is something of a hobby of mine."

"Well, if you figure me out, tell me, will you? I've got no idea where to start." Another spiral. The mass on my notebook was an almost perfect circle now. I drew a careful circle around it, and added more spirals to fill in the gaps.

"What are you drawing?"

The question took me by surprise. I flipped my notebook around to show him. "To be honest, I have no idea. I just started doodling a load of spirals."

"I see." Marco reached out, and lightly traced the curve of the circle. "It looks almost like a Devil Fruit."

"It does?" I turned the book around again, and glared at the page. "Have you seen a Devil Fruit before?"

"You could say that," he began, blue eyes half-lidded and glittering with amusement. "I've seen quite a few. Actually, I've eaten one."

_That_ got my attention. I closed my book and slapped it down on the table, crossing my arms and gazing intently at Marco. "What sort did you eat?"

"Tori-Tori no Mi, Phoenix model. It's classed as a Mythical Zoan, even rarer than a logia." He laughed quietly, watching me equally intently. "I've never had to tell anyone about my powers before, you know. Most people know already, through rumours or experience."

"I just don't listen to rumours," I told him. "Half the time they're not true, and they're never interesting. What's a phoenix?"

He told me. I listened intently.

I don't think I'd grasped the full possibility of any given Devil Fruit before then. Sure, Ace's fire was flashy, and powerful, and destructive, but if what Marco was telling me was true, then he was practically unkillable. If physical damage just… melted away, then there was almost nothing anyone could throw at him that he couldn't survive.

_Maybe poison gas might do it_, I thought. _Or drowning._ Then I mentally slapped myself across the face.

"Is it bad that I just automatically started thinking of ways that you could be killed?"

He cocked his head to the side, his expression turning considering. "I'd say it would be pretty practical, actually. With any power, there are weaknesses. It's good to find those weaknesses before your enemy does, and plan ways to lessen their impact."

"Poison gas?" I suggested. He looked mildly amused.

"Most poisonous gases are heavier than air. All I'd have to do would be fly up a few metres. And hold my breath until I got there, of course."

"Drowning, maybe?"

Marco gave a short laugh, sitting up straighter. His jacket fell open further, the red Whitebeard mark on his chest dark against the torchlight. "Loki, that one's a danger for all Devil Fruit users. We lose all our strength in the water, and unless our power is a constantly active one, then we lose them as well. If I fell in the water, I'd just be a normal human. One that couldn't swim, at that."

I remembered the question Damini had posed, way back when she'd first explained Devil Fruits to me. "How come so many Devil Fruit users become sailors of whatever kind, then? It doesn't seem very practical."

He sighed, and leaned back in his chair again. "Not all sailors that don't have Devil Fruits know how to swim, either. To be honest, if you hit a storm out in the middle of the ocean—you still haven't seen a true New World storm, either—and you get washed overboard, then there's not much hope for you even if you were the best swimmer in the world. Humans have to breathe air, or else they die. Most sailors know how to stop themselves falling overboard in the meantime. The methods work well enough that even Devil Fruit users can make use of them."

It made sense, I guess. Ace, who fell overboard once or twice every week, was an anomaly—an idiotic one.

"I see." I glanced down at my notebook, which somehow contrived to look abandoned and quite sorry for itself despite its lack of any recognizable features. "Um…" I trailed off then, no longer sure of the question I'd been going to ask.

Marco waited patiently until I thought of a replacement sentence. "This island we're going to, Kiiroen… Why do we need to worry about it? Maybe it's a stupid question, but I don't get why it's important enough to bother with."

"To others it might be a stupid question, but I think I understand what you mean." Marco tapped my notebook. "Can I borrow this? It'll make the explanation easier."

I nodded. "Go ahead."

"Alright." He opened the book to a new double page, and sketched a rough rectangle on it. "Basically, it's politics. Piratical politics, but politics nonetheless. Here in the New World, the oceans belong to everyone. It's the islands that belong to whoever is strong enough to keep them." He added a few dots to the rectangle to illustrate the point. "The islands that belong to you, they're your territory, and no other crew is allowed to prey on them. The four pirates with the biggest territories at the moment are Pops, Red-Haired Shanks, Big Mom and Kaidou. Collectively, they're known as the Four Emperors, or the Yonkou to some."

He blocked out several shapes within the rectangle, writing a name in each. Pops, I found I was pleased to note, had the biggest territory.

"The Emperors and their allies control most of the New World between them. The lesser crews squabble over what's left, usually, but sometimes one or the other will take it into his head to try and take some of our territory. When that happens, whoever's territory is getting eaten into isn't the only one to pay attention—everyone else will be watching, as well. If you don't do anything to the crew who is encroaching on your patch, it's a sign of weakness. People exploit weaknesses, and soon you'll have more people coming in to grab what's yours. That's how a powerful crew gets spread too thin, and when that happens, the Marines involve themselves."

He paused, frowning down at the notebook. "When I was still new to the world of piracy, years and years ago, one of the Yonkou at that stage got complacent about looking after his territory. He let a couple of small crews take over some of his islands. When he let them get away with no punishment, all the other crews in the area got together and went after his other islands. He destroyed the first couple of crews with no trouble, but after that he and his crew started to get tired. In the end, his crew got split up on an island, and while half of it fought more pirates, the other half ran into a detachment of Marines."

"The entire crew was defeated, wasn't it?" I realised I had started leaning over the table towards him, so intent on the story I'd forgotten where I was. He nodded, and a flash of a dark smile slipped onto his lips.

"They were. Divide and conquer, that's a motto worth remembering in this world." He blinked, refocusing on the diagram in my notebook.

"Anyway, all the emperors have their own ways of dealing with this. Kaidou goes in with all guns firing, and wipes out whoever dared trespass on his island, usually destroying half the island in the process. We're a bit less draconian—if the other crew has a bit of worth, or if part of it is smart enough to repent, we'll absorb them. If not, we destroy them. Big Mom does something similar, although she usually demands a tribute as well. Red-Hair goes in with a load of rum and turns the whole thing into a party, after which he counts the other crew as allies or friends, and usually they're too scared to disagree."

I chuckled softly. Of all the other Yonkou, Red-Hair—Shanks, if I remembered correctly—was the name I heard most in conversations. People tended to grin when they spoke of him, respect mingling with genuine liking.

"That make sense?" Marco asked. Still grinning, I nodded.

"So if everything goes right at the island, we won't just be keeping Pops' position as a Yonkou, we might be gaining more allies as well?"

It was Marco's turn to nod. "Exactly." He smiled at me, the expression in his blue eyes one of satisfaction. "Now, that's not the explanation you would have gotten from anyone else, but it's the one that is truest across the entire New World. Most of the crew don't understand politics, but they do understand the concept of protecting what's yours, so that's what they get told, or what they figure out for themselves. Pops is different again—he knows the politics, but he's been around for long enough that he has friends on the islands in our territory, or he has friends who have friends on the islands. He protects the islands because he can, and because he wants to."

"Then he's _good_," I said, blinking with the strangeness of it all. "Good in all the fairytale hero-versus-villain senses of the word. Why don't any of the stories about him mention that?"

"Because, in all honesty, who would believe that about a pirate?" Marco asked, grinning approvingly. "It's enough that we know."

I looked at him for a long moment, before I sighed and admitted to myself that I agreed. Tugging the notebook back across the table towards me, I picked up the pencil and started to write down notes around the map Marco had sketched for me. Up the top of the page, I wrote, in all capital letters, 'PIRATICAL POLITICS'. The term had a nice sound to it.

Once I'd written down everything, I looked up again, and blinked, scanning the galley. Marco had vanished.

I sighed again, closing the notebook. Suddenly I felt tired, and older than I had before. Thinking will do that to you, I guess.

Quietly, I stood up, and padded out of the galley.

The night was different, now. The wheel of time and space turned slowly. I blinked, and the stars I'd seen before had shifted across the sky, moving west. The moon rose above the horizon, and shrank.

I wandered around to the stern, and leaned against the back of the raised cabin, staring out across the water. Slowly, I slipped down the wall until the deck stopped my descent, and sat there, balancing on the balls of my feet and hugging my knees close against my body. There was nothing to see that I hadn't seen before, but that was all as it should be. It gave me space to think.

I don't know what made me do it. I rose to my feet, padded slowly over to the railing, and hopped up on top of it, balancing carefully.

The movement of the ocean underneath the ship dipped and rolled, and I rose and fell with it. I found my equilibrium for a split second, and fixed that feeling in my mind before a sharper wave crest sent me tumbling to the deck. I landed on my feet, bracing my hands against the deck. Then I tried again.

It took me nine tries total to get used to the movement of the waves. On the last, I found that one perfect moment where everything aligned, and stretched it out, standing loosely on the ship's railing, arms hanging unused at my sides.

Buoyed with success, I took a step forward towards the bow, and a rogue wave pitched me off balance. I bounced off the railing on my way down, and sprawled painfully on the deck, blinking up at the starlit sky.

It was just luck I hadn't gone the other way, I suppose. I didn't know if I could swim, and I really didn't want to try and find out now, when there was nobody close at hand to rescue me if it turned out I couldn't.

But my experiments with balance had done the trick. I pushed myself up to lean against the rail, legs skewed out awkwardly in front of me. The manic energy had gone from my muscles, and while I still wasn't sleepy, I was just tired enough that my hammock was beginning to look very tempting right now.

I took the long route back to the cabin, working away the little aches and pains that my tumbles had given me. When I arrived back, I climbed down the ladder in absolute silence, my steps maybe a little faster as I headed over to my hammock.

It took me another long hour to fall asleep again, but this time, it was a real sleep, sound and dreamless. I didn't wake up until dawn.

* * *

><p><em>Word Count:<em> 5990

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**


	9. Crowns Of Words Awoven

I found out the other day that one of Mom's old boyfriends had narcolepsy. So now I have some sort of idea of how it behaves in people~

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Eight: Crowns Of Words Awoven_

Blinking tiredly, I stared into the depths of my tea, watching the ripples in the liquid distort my reflection. The time was just after dawn, and I had come down into the galley a while ago to find something to alleviate my fatigue. The cook on duty had taken one look at me, and served me up a cup of boiling hot, strange-smelling, thick black tea. Then he'd pressed a fresh bread roll into my other hand, and sent me back into the galley to wake up properly.

The tea was even stronger than the Carolingen brew Lorna had served back in Tusanto. I almost choked on my first mouthful, swallowing it with difficulty and taking a bite of my roll to wash away the bitter aftertaste. Then I stared into my cup again, wondering if I dared try another mouthful.

My reflection looked pitifully back at me. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the bright lights on the wall made her skin look pale and sallow. I hadn't tied my hair back yet that morning; straggly blonde strands hung loose around my reflection's face. I frowned at the sight, and the reflection's brows drew together, the shadows around her eyes deepening.

I sighed, and let go of the frown. I wasn't about to be beaten by some tea.

Raising the cup to my lips, I drank, and drank, and drank. If I'd stopped, I don't know if I could have finished it. When the last of the foul-smelling dregs were all that was left in the cup, I grabbed my roll and bit voraciously into it, my eyes watering with the aftertaste.

We'd parted ways with Pops and the Moby Dick three days ago. I don't know if it was the strangeness of the smaller Bluefin, or if I was much more attached to the Moby Dick than I'd thought, but I hadn't been able to sleep for longer than three hours each night. Functioning as usual on such sparse rest had proved difficult.

Crossing my arms, I rested my chin on the tabletop, watching as the first of my crewmates began trickling into the galley for breakfast. These were the other early-risers, the ones who couldn't sleep past dawn even if they wanted to. Counting me, there were fifteen of us; Marco made sixteen, although he only turned up on those mornings he hadn't been on the deadman's watch.

Dawn was my favourite time of the day, when everything was quiet and pale in the new sun. On deck, the only sounds would be the ever-present waves lapping against the hull, and the cries of the seabirds as they wheeled in the sky, hunting the shoals of fish that rose to the surface during the border-times between night and day. Yesterday morning I'd watched a flock of gannets dive into the water again and again, swooping down to the sea's surface and folding their wings in tight against their bodies a heartbeat before they hit the water, resurfacing with wiggling silver fish pinched tightly in their beaks.

I gave my eyes a vigorous rub, and blinked. Whatever was in that tea had done the trick—I felt much more awake.

Rising to my feet, I collected the cup, and left it on the bench beside the kitchen door on my way out.

In the Bluefin, the galley door was the fifth along the corridor from the stairs that led to the deck. The fourth adjoining door led to my cabin. Just before I passed this door, it burst open, and Ace tumbled out, half-running, half-falling, like he'd been tossed out by someone. The opposite wall creaked as he thumped painfully into it.

"Go work off a bit o' that energy!" someone who sounded very much like Tad shouted after him, before the door slammed shut again.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, slumping down the wall and making a rude gesture at the closed door. "It was an accident!"

"What did you do?" I asked, having paused in the middle of the corridor to avoid tripping over him. "Tad sounds pissed."

He turned his head, looking up at me in wide-eyed, innocent surprise. "Oh, it's you. Didn't notice you there. It was an accident, and I _told_ him…"

It was almost impossible to get a straight answer out of Ace on the first try. "Yeah, but _what_ did you do?" I repeated patiently.

"Oh, it wasn't much," Ace grinned, pushing himself away from the wall and tenderly rubbing his bruised forehead. "I was trying to kill a spider, 'cause we all know Thatch is absolutely terrified of them and I think I might die laughing if I see him running away from one again." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "And I might've kicked Tad in the head by accident."

There was only one part of that sentence that made any sense to me. "Thatch is scared of spiders?"

"Yup!" Ace smirked at me. "It's pretty hilarious. I'd show you, only I'm not allowed to put them in his bed anymore."

"I see." I shook my head—Thatch, scared of spiders?—and continued along the corridor. When I reached the stairs to the deck, I realized Ace was following me.

At least he was fully dressed—though for Ace, this meant he was wearing his hat, his shorts and his boots, and the strings of red beads around his neck and his right wrist. Rarely did he wear anything else.

"Don't you want breakfast?" I said, nodding back towards the galley. As applied to Ace, the idea seemed completely alien. But he grinned, and shook his head anyway.

"Well, they don't have the good stuff out at this time, and besides, I've already eaten. I've got a stash under my pillow in case I wake up in the night and want something to eat. If I don't, I have to eat it all in the mornings, otherwise it goes stinky and rotten and the guys complain."

"I see," I said again, lying through my teeth. Ace's love affair with food had reached new heights while I wasn't looking.

I clambered up the stairs and out onto the empty deck, and Ace bounced out after me.

It was a clear morning, a few wispy clouds scudding across the northern horizon. At first they looked thin and frail, as clouds of that nature always do, but as I watched, one wisp put out a bloom of white, curling upwards and outwards like smoke. Again it bloomed, and again, and again. I looked away, watching as Ace performed a couple of cartwheels across the deck, and when I looked back, the cloud had almost doubled in size.

Maybe if we were unlucky, that baby storm might catch up to us later, when it was fully formed and raging across the ocean. Damini had taught me a bit about the formation of storms a couple of days ago, and I realized now that I was watching the exact same weather she had described.

Seagulls called, and a gannet croaked. Small waves whispered as their tops curled and foamed. The sun—bright and strong even this early in the morning—glinted off the surface of the ocean.

Then the dawn silence was broken by the ringing of the ship's bell.

I started violently, stepping backwards automatically and banging my heel into the ship's railing. Biting back a curse, I moved out into clear space again, trying to look everywhere at once. I'd heard the bell on the Moby Dick a grand total of once, when a Marine ship had been sighted on the horizon a couple of weeks ago. One toll signaled an approaching ship, two meant a possible enemy, and three meant a hostile ship.

I counted four peals of the great bronze bell. That told everyone on board to prepare for battle.

As our crewmates began emerging from below decks, weapons in hand, Ace and I moved over to the railing on the port side of the ship. He gathered himself and jumped up easily, balancing for a moment on the railings before he jumped again, almost five feet in the air, flames licking around his heels. In midair he reached upwards and grabbed hold of the spar above with one hand. The other hand went to shield his eyes from the sun and he peered off across the ocean.

There was a ship there, rapidly growing clearer through the morning haze. It was featureless as yet, but even then, I knew it was another crew of pirates—the shape of the ship was wrong for a Marine vessel. This ship was a tall ship, built for speed, unlike the clunky-looking, functional Marine warships I'd seen.

"Bloody hell! Not again!" Ace groaned, smacking his forehead incredulously as he let himself drop back to the deck. "Man, these guys never give up."

"You have to give them points for perseverance, I suppose," Marco's voice chuckled. I bit back a decidedly un-stoic squeak—he'd come right up behind me while I was focusing on Ace.

"Yeah, but how many times does this make it? Four? Once is enough for most people!" Ace shook his head in mock despair. "I'm starting to think these guys are just plain dumb."

"What guys?" I asked, wishing I knew what Ace had seen on the approaching ship.

"These guys," Ace explained, jabbing his thumb loosely over his shoulder as he turned to me. "I never thought it was possible for a whole crew to be dumb—I mean, you'd think that at least one person would have a healthy dose of common sense—"

"And that person would not be you," Marco interjected smoothly, leaning casually against the ship's railing. Ace glared at him.

"Shut up, you. Anyway, as I was saying, Loki, these guys proved me wrong. They have a bloody sheep on their flag!"

"Mountain goat," Marco corrected, grinning. "And why is that the first example of their stupidity you mention, eh, Ace?"

Ace waved his hand dismissively. "A pirate flag is supposed to be _frightening._ Who's gonna be frightened by a sheep? Sure, they attack us every other month, and sure, they always lose horribly, but that might just be too much optimism. But a sheep? That's just dumb."

He had a point, I realized. A pirate flag was a warning and a boast, just as much as it was a badge of identification for its crew. "I see. So how do we deal with them?"

Marco's grin grew wider. "The wind is just right for a fly-by, I think. We'll send some of you awake ones onto their ship and let you have some fun, then come back around to collect you on the way past again."

As he spoke, the Bluefin lurched under our feet, swinging around sharply to face the approaching ship. I staggered, spreading my feet apart further to regain my balance. The sails overhead creaked and billowed out as they filled with the brisk wind, pushing us forwards through the waves. The rising sun hovered over the horizon almost directly in front of us, the other ship a shadow running ahead of its golden rays.

"That oughta do it," Marco said, intently watching the gap between our hull and theirs grow smaller. "Alright! Anyone who's been awake for longer than ten minutes, go to the port rail and prepare to board!"

A ragged roar went up from the assembled pirates, interspersed with disappointed mutters from the latest sleepers. From up in the lower levels of the rigging, Thatch added his own call:

"Remember, try not to kill any of 'em! They're too cute to kill!"

Laughing, most of the assembled pirates agreed.

"What makes them cute?" I asked, following Ace up to the railing. The gap between the ships was closing fast, and several of our crew had hopped up onto the railings to wait the last few seconds.

Ace shrugged. "Who knows? It's just Thatch," he said, as though that explained everything. "You planning to fight?"

Watching the gap of ocean between the two ships close, I nodded. "Of course. What do they call it—trial by fire? I need to test myself in a battle situation."

"Sailors call it 'seeing the kraken'. What's with that last sentence?" he asked with a grin. "You're almost starting to sound like Marco."

There was no time to answer. With a rushing noise, the hull slicing through the waves, the other ship was upon us. As a wave, a tide, the Whitebeard Pirates swept across the railing and the gap, up onto the deck of the other ship. Noise followed us like a living wave, trailing from Ace at the head of the force back to me, carried along in the middle of the bunch.

And then I was in the thick of it. Slipping into my battle trance, I wove and dodged through the crowd, looking for openings. Both forces had spread out and mingled, swordsmen facing swordsmen, knife-wielders darting about watching for an unguarded back to slash. Fire bloomed into a pillar on the forecastle, where Ace had found a worthy opponent.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I spun and danced backwards, kicking up and out. Bone cracked as my foot slammed into the underside of someone's shoulder. I felt something give under the pressure. There was no respite even then—I saw a swordsman wearing the mountain-goat symbol of the enemy turn his back to me, and ducked low, putting all my power into my legs as I sprang forward, slamming into the small of his back. He stumbled forward, impaling himself on his enemy's sword.

"Nice work!" Thatch grinned quickly at me, pulling his sword free before he turned and waded back into the fray.

Watching for openings where I could support someone with a sharp weapon, I kept myself out of harm's way in the meantime.

This was a very different situation to a one-on-one sparring match. I had to watch out for everyone around me, allies and enemies alike. My instincts, which had served me well enough in the match against Sierra, were overwhelmed here. I struggled to regain my earlier balance. And with no weapons of my own save for my fists, I was at a considerable disadvantage.

I spun to face a new opponent, but couldn't entirely discount everyone else. My enemy, a man with an impressive walrus moustache, sneered at me and raised a pistol. I instantly dove forwards, and felt the bullet track past my ear as I slammed my fist into his gut.

It was like punching a brick wall. Pain shot through my hand and tracked up through my knuckles and wrist. I drew back and kicked him instead, landing the blow just above his kneecap. The gun fired again, but went wide, and the man staggered. Someone behind me shot him in the head.

I moved onwards through the battle, the deck slick with blood and worse underneath my feet. The air stank of smoke and iron.

Something solid slammed into my back, jarring and bruising, and ropes tangled in my bare feet, pinching my skin between their coils. I fought my way free, dodging a man with a knife in his hand that had been going for my neck. Suddenly we were in the clear space near the side of the ship—out the corner of my eye, I spotted the Bluefin turning, her sails white against the brilliant blue ocean.

My balance came back for a fraction of a second. In the middle of the battle, something went still. I felt it—maybe the man with the knife did too.

Then an explosion pressed the air tight. Fire billowed up from a massive hole in the forecastle, and the shock sent shrapnel flying through the air, splinters and bits of twisted iron and dismembered bodies.

Something hit me square in the chest. The impact lifted me up off my feet, and I hung in midair for a fraction of a second, weightless and falling. I slammed into the railing on the side of the ship—too high, and I pitched backwards, overboard.

The world seemed to slow down around me before I hit the surface of the ocean hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs.

I sank underneath the waves, and suddenly it was as if the adrenaline rush of the battle had never flooded through my veins. My limbs felt leaden, exhausted, too heavy to move. I gasped for breath, and water rushed into my lungs—I coughed it back up, along with my last breaths of air.

Limp and helpless, I sank fast, the water going dark around me as I ran out of oxygen. The empty dark world I had floated in before waking up in Carolinge eagerly reached out to claim me once more. Sight vanished, and the cool press of the water all around me followed it to nothingness. I felt strangely calm, and as the distorted sounds in the water around me became fainter and fainter, I let myself go and succumbed to the darkness.

Then, a sudden, sharp pain. Light surrounded me once more. The world was bright—too bright.

Sensation flooded my body again, and I choked on the water still in my lungs, coughing it up, tears leaking from my eyes. Sweet, fresh air flooded into me, and I swear I'd never smelled anything better. The day was bright around me, the tendrils of the darkness retreating from my vision and from my mind.

Strong arms encircled me, and I blinked away tears and seawater, looking up into the face of my rescuer. One of the guys from my cabin—I didn't know his name. I made a mental note to ask when I could breathe without choking.

A burst of light and heat and sudden sound flared up aboard the ship, and when it died down, a voice called down to my rescuer. "It's all over. You can bring her up now." A rope splashed down in the water beside us, and the guy who had saved me wrapped it around his arms a few times, then clung tight to me.

"Can you lift us up?"

There was an affirmative shout, and then we were being dragged through the water, then up and out of it.

The ship was listing badly, waves spilling into a massive hole in the side of the forecastle. Smoke was rising in a thick column from inside the hole, but there was no sign of fire. The ship was hurt, but safe for now.

As I was lifted out of the water, I felt the crushing exhaustion leave my body as abruptly as it had come. When at last I was back on deck, I stood, shakily, braced my hands on my thighs and coughed up what felt like half an ocean.

I was soaked from head to foot, my hair sticking to my face and neck, salt water in my eyes and the leftovers of a terror I couldn't remember having experienced racing through my veins. I felt like a drowned rat.

"Can you not swim?" someone asked. Panting, I scraped my hair back from my face and looked up into the deep green eyes of the guy who had fished me out of the depths. I stared for a moment, while I gathered my wits again, and shrugged.

"Actually, she sank way too fast for that. She didn't even thrash about or anything." Ace stared thoughtfully at me from an empty bit of deck by the railings, absently tapping his fingers against the wood. "It's possible she might be a Devil Fruit user. Loki, did you feel strange in any way when you were in the water? Like... I dunno, tired? Like you'd had all the energy drained out of you?"

I nodded, straightening and taking deep, gasping breaths. "Yeah... like I was dead. Thanks," I told my rescuer, and gave him a weak smile.

"No problem," he said, crossing his arms and looking down at the deck. "I'm used to fishing people out of the water." He glanced at Ace as he said that, his grin taking on a wicked slant. Ace scowled at him.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean, you bastard? I haven't fallen overboard since last month!"

"Which is something of a record, really. What's the betting he goes overboard tomorrow?" Thatch turned up, his swords sheathed again, grinning from ear to ear. "No fatalities, no serious injuries, even, which is something of a miracle after that stunt you pulled with the gunpowder, Ace. Job's done here, guys. Let's hop back to the Bluefin—It's coming around now."

He prodded a groaning pirate with his elegantly slippered foot. "You gave a good fight, kiddos, but not good enough. Like I always say, better luck next time."

* * *

><p>First Marco and then Grim (the latter with a much greater effect) yelled at Ace for blowing up the gunpowder once we got back to the ship. Shortly after the shouting subsided, the fire Logia came creeping out onto the deck, looking suitably cowed, and sat cross-legged on the timbers a few feet away from where I was lying, trying to dry myself out in the sun.<p>

As the seawater evaporated, it left behind a thin coating of salt on my skin. I brushed it off as it appeared, waiting for Ace to say something. Even when he'd just been told off, he could never stay quiet for long.

We were the only ones out on-deck; the sun was blazing hot, and anyone with half a brain was staying inside, in the shade. My adventure in the ocean had killed more than half my brain, apparently, and Ace being made of fire, he never had any brain to begin with.

He was staring studiously at the decking, his shoulders hunched in a perfect picture of repentance.

"I must be the luckiest bastard in the world," he muttered, tapping his fingers decisively against the wooden slats in front of him. "That's not the first time I've accidentally blown up a barrel of gunpowder, and I still haven't killed anybody I didn't want to."

"Then it was an accident?" I asked, without thinking. Ace looked up at me, his eyes intense and serious.

"Of course it was an accident, Loki, I'm not stupid enough to set off an explosion where my friends are likely to be the ones getting hurt by it. The real gunpowder stores in the hold could have gone up too, and that probably would've killed all of you. If I'd had anything of a choice about it, I'd have made damn sure I didn't touch that cask." His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles going white with the strain. "Fire is a really dangerous power. No-one knows that better than me."

I bit my lip, wishing I'd held my tongue. "Then why did Marco and Grim yell at you so much?"

He changed position, stretching his legs out in front of him and pursing his lips. "Dunno. But it doesn't make any difference. I was careless. They were right to yell at me. I've really got to watch myself when all you guys are around."

That didn't seem quite fair. "How were you careless?" I asked, absently brushing off a patch of salt on my forearm.

Ace shrugged, grinning, but the expression fell flat. "I just wasn't looking where I was throwing my flames, I guess. There was a little cask in the corner of the room. Wooden, and old, so it practically vaporized when I set it on fire. There was gunpowder in it, and it did what gunpowder does best."

"Doesn't seem much like carelessness to me," I said mulishly. I couldn't see what Grim and Marco had gotten so worked up about, nor what Ace saw in their arguments.

Ace shrugged, grinning a self-disparaging grin. "Yeah, well, you're not me. Imagine what it'd be like if we switched bodies? Silly Loki and Serious Ace. The world would break." He paused for a moment, and frowned. "And I wouldn't be able to pee standing up anymore."

The speed at which he changed the subject was bewildering. I blinked, shook my head, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Is it really that convenient?"

"It's more than convenient," Ace slumped backwards, laying spread-eagled across the deck and laughing in the sunlight. "You know, I'm impressed with you. You haven't smacked me or any of the guys for anything yet. Damini did the other day. I don't think she liked my joke."

"What was it about?" I tried to imagine Damini smacking Ace the way she'd smacked Tad the other day for trying to steal a shrimp off her plate. It was easier than I'd expected—more amusing, as well. I bit back a snigger.

Ace shrugged, stretching luxuriously. "I don't remember, probably one of the ones about the Lokashiri whores. By the way, I think you're a Devil Fruit user."

I stared down at my hands, wondering if he could be right. The one constant thing I'd ever heard about Devil Fruits was their weakness to the sea. Put that together with the instant exhaustion I'd felt as I hit the water, and it seemed likely that my problem with swimming wasn't just not knowing how.

Knowledge was what I really needed. Knowledge of everything I was, and what I could and couldn't do.

"So do I." I took a deep breath, and let it all out in a gusty sigh. "I just wish I knew for sure."

He grinned—and the wicked glint was back in his eye. "Well, there's an easy way to find out."

"There is?"

I should have been more suspicious. Ace recruited a couple of the watchmen to help as he commandeered a length of rope from somewhere hopefully non-vital, tied it around my waist and then chucked me overboard again. Before I had the chance to sink again, he and the watchmen hauled the rope back in a bit, so I dangled in the water, submerged to my neck but no further.

"How do you feel?" Reed, the man who had rescued me earlier, called down to me. The answer bubbled up unprompted in me.

"Like I'm being sat on by an elephant." It felt like my bones were made of lead, or some equally heavy metal. The hull of the Bluefin was close enough to me that I could have reached out and pressed my palm against it, but I didn't have the strength to lift my arm even an inch. I was dangling there in the ocean, and I couldn't imagine I'd ever be as helpless as I felt then.

I heard Ace chuckle, as Reed and the other watchman started hauling me up. As my body left the water, my strength slowly started to seep back, but I knew that it'd be a while before I felt completely back to normal again.

"So how do we go about finding out which power she's got? The watchman whose name I didn't know asked, as I slithered bonelessly over the railing and flopped onto the deck, dripping seawater everywhere. My shirt was clinging uncomfortably to my skin, bunching up in places and stretching flat in others, but I just didn't have the energy to be bothered with resettling it the way it should go.

Ace shrugged, grinning down at me. "I dunno. Got any ideas we could start with, Loki?"

"Nope." I tried to shake my head, then decided I couldn't be bothered with that either. My eyes followed a pair of seagulls wheeling in the sky above the ship, until they passed in front of the sun and I looked away, overwhelmed by the light.

"Well, how did you find out what yours was, Ace?" Reed suggested, settling cross-legged on the deck by my side. "Maybe we can start from there."

"My first mate set me on fire by accident." Ace threw back his head and laughed. "Not a good starting point!"

"Please don't set me on fire," I said, staring up at him. "Or do anything else that might cause me physical harm."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," the third man said. He had strange yellow eyes, deep-set underneath incredibly thick, dark eyebrows. He was probably older than Ace and Reed combined, lines crisscrossing his hands and face like spiderwebs. From my position sprawled across the deck, he looked incredibly tall.

"You planning to sit up anytime soon?" he added, winding the rest of the rope up into a neat loop. Wiry muscles bunched and stretched underneath the ruddy skin on his arms.

I shook my head, watching the rope's progress. "S'nice and warm here in the sun. I don't feel like moving."

Ace grinned contentedly, sitting down on the deck beside Reed. "You're definitely a Devil Fruit user. The sea takes all your strength, doesn't it?"

"And motivation," I added. "Now I understand why you fall asleep every time someone hauls you out of the ocean."

"Well, actually that's partly just Ace," Reed interjected. "He falls asleep all the time. In his food, in the showers, in the middle of the hallway, everywhere but his bed."

"That's an exaggeration and you know it," Ace scowled at him. He was blinking oddly, I noticed, focusing on Reed harder than he usually did when he was talking to people.

In the background, the other man started a discreet countdown, mouthing the numbers from five on downwards.

"At the very least I don't fall asleep in my food," Ace tried to disagree. Reed wasn't really arguing back, but he was still winning, somehow. Not many arguments stand up to a well-practiced dubious expression.

The other man's last finger folded up, as he mouthed the word 'zero'. Right on cue, Ace's mouth fell open, and with an air of abused finality, he gave a slow, drawn-out snore.

"He's narcoleptic," Reed explained to me, grinning wickedly. "Hey, Hunter, have we still got that black marker around? There's a lot of fun you can have with Ace and a black marker."

* * *

><p><em>Word Count:<em> 5087

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**


	10. Tearing At The Seams

Learnt the other day that 'Whetu' means 'star' in Maori. It amuses me how ill-fitting that is for my Whetu.

On that note, are there any other minor characters I've mentioned that you'd like to see drawn? I already have designs up on dA for Neroli, Kya, Sierra, Jimmu, Tad, Dollface and Prosper, half a design for Destry and some other figurants I haven't mentioned here on FFnet yet. A friend of mine mentioned that she'd like to see what Kali looks like – so does anyone else get any votes? XD

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Nine: Tearing At The Seams_

Grim kept Damini working late the rest of that evening, late enough that she missed dinner and most of the free hour after it. I was mystified, and so was Ace, but the more experienced sailors among the lunch club had a better idea.

"I'll bet it's because we're coming up to Jason's Knot," Thatch theorised as he leant in over the table, a knowledgeable smirk tugging at the corners of his expressive mouth. "They'll be scurrying around flat-out in there, checking and re-checking our position against all their maps, doing all those calculations navigators do. I'm so glad I'm not a navigator."

"Too much work, huh?" Kestrel groused. "I'm glad you're not a navigator either." The usually reserved pirate picked up a chicken leg and gestured sharply at Thatch with the meaty end. Ace's eyes intently followed the morsel until Kestrel started eating it, at which time he suddenly seemed to remember about his own heavily-laden plate.

"Who or what is Jason's Knot?" I asked, fully prepared for the usual confused, half-cocked answer from Thatch and Ace.

To my surprise, it was Marco who answered instead.

"It's a damn mess, is what it is. Three surface currents converge near the edge of the Calm Belt, and turn the sea into a raging maelstrom. What makes it worse is that it's in the middle of a wind channel—the winds through the entire thing are so strong it's like sailing in a hurricane. So the whole Knot is virtually impassable—except for a three-mile wide passage through the middle." He glanced at Thatch, adding with a tiny smirk, "It takes all of a navigator's skill and luck to keep a ship on course through there."

"Grim's one of a handful of navigators who could do it," a guy from one of the nearer tables put in, grinning with the peculiar sort of pride most of Whitebeard's Pirates exhibited when they were talking about the commanders or the senior crewmembers. "I hear she was apprenticed on the ship that found the passage first, even."

"That true?" Ace swallowed his current mouthful (a heroic effort) and grinned. "At least we know she's done it before, then."

Marco fixed him with an amused look. "Surely you don't think this is the first time we've done it, either?"

"The tenth time, even," Thatch sniggered. "Jason's Knot is old news to most of us."

"He's got you there!" someone at another table called out. "Don't worry, Ace—you'll catch up soon enough."

Ace scowled, and as he started adding to the noise in the dining hall, I turned to Marco and quietly said: "It's that dangerous?"

He heard me fine, somehow. "It depends on the quality of ship, crew and navigator, really." He stared pensively at me for a moment, his blue eyes mild. "Are you worried?"

It wasn't an unexpected question. "Not really," I said. "It's not in my nature to be scared until whatever it is that I'm supposed to be scared of is actually happening." I blinked, and a memory of today's first dip in the ocean flashed before my eyes. "Or has happened already. I'm just wondering why we don't go around it instead of through if the consequences of getting it wrong are so high."

He chuckled softly. "Mainly because it's so much faster—two days as opposed to two weeks if we go around. This way, we can be at Kiiroen five days from now if the weather holds."

"So it's convenience and danger versus safety and tedium."

I mustn't have looked very impressed, because Marco laughed again, and gave an expansive shrug. "Who wants safety? Danger is so much more interesting. Why else would you become a pirate?"

Unfortunately for him, Thatch heard that last part.

"Well, Marco," he began, frowning seriously and stroking his goatee, "there's the food and booze, the spoils of war, the ocean under your hull, the pretty girls—_hurk…_" He'd put a friendly arm around Kestrel's shoulders as he said that last part, and she'd sucker-punched him in the gut.

"Perhaps you'd better stick to town girls," Marco observed with thinly veiled amusement. "The pirate girls seem to know you too well."

"This one does, anyway." Kestrel drained her mug of the last dregs of grog, pushed her chair back, and stood up in one smooth movement. "I'm going to read in my bunk. Thatch, don't get too drunk. There's something I want to talk to you about later on."

Thatch made a small noise of affirmation, and Ace stopped arguing with the guys at the next table along long enough to snicker wickedly at the fourth-division commander:

"Man, you are _so_ whipped."

* * *

><p>Early the next morning, I found out what all the fuss was about.<p>

The wind had kicked up wickedly overnight, howling through the masts and eagerly catching the few sails we'd left unfurled, blowing us onwards with a fury I had thought only came in storms. The creaking of the timbers and the cloth of the sails snapping in the gale woke me some time before dawn, prompting me to climb out onto the deck and see what was going on.

The wind wasn't the only thing odd about the world today. The sun beat down on the seas with twin hammers of heat and light, so intensely that Ace wasn't the only one of my crewmates to abandon his shirt, and I wished I could do the same. The sky was brilliant blue, flecked with tiny freckles of white cloud, but the sea was a stormy slate-grey. Huge waves were surging around the Bluefin, their tops white with spume. Salt spray drenched the air like rain.

The deck was a hive of activity, unusually for so early in the morning. The morning shift were in the rigging already, helping to tack and trim the sails to keep the Bluefin on course. Grim stood in the middle of the deck in front of the raised cabin, barking orders in a voice twice her size, while Damini concentrated on keeping her balance a few feet behind the old navigator.

I stumbled over to her, struggling to keep my balance with the deck bucking so violently underneath my feet. "Good morning," I said quietly, once I was sure Damini would hear me. "How long have you been up? Verna said you never came back to the cabin last night."

She glanced at me, her eyes bloodshot and fatigued. "Since three-thirty. I had about three hours' sleep in Grim's bunk. As far as I know, she herself hasn't slept at all since yesterday morning."

"No wonder you look so…" I trailed off, unsure of what adjective to use. 'Tired' simply wasn't strong enough.

"Smashed? Shattered, strung-out, dead on my feet?" Damini suggested, chuckling blackly. "I'd kill for a coffee right now. Only it'd likely all slop out and burn my fingers before I could drink it."

I shared her humourless laugh. "How long do you have to do this for?"

Damini shrugged helplessly. "Two days. Maybe more. We can't stop, not now we're in the current. Grim's taking shifts with Whetu, but even then, I might have to end up doing a shift myself in the end, so I have to watch what they're doing. There's so much riding on what we're doing now. I really can't leave."

"At least it's not raining," I observed after a while. Damini shuddered.

"Don't tempt fate. I'm Carolingen; we thrive in heat and sun like this. We tend to melt and run through the cracks in the floorboards when it rains."

The sails snapped and creaked in a particularly vicious gust of wind. I wasn't looking forward to my shift up there- at times, the ship was swaying so much that the ends of the spars were suspended out over empty ocean.

"Even so," Damini said after a while, "I kinda like this. It's a whole new experience. I knew being a sailor, let alone a pirate, was a whole lot tougher than being a philosopher, but I had no idea how tough. But I'm going to beat the hardship, Loki. I'm gonna win."

She smiled a feral grin, her teeth bright white in her dark face. "This is what all the stuff Grim's teaching me has been going to culminate in, anyway. It's just come sooner than either of us expected."

"Sounds like it's gonna be a pretty big battle," I said, and turned to go inside again. "I better go prepare for my own."

Damini half-turned, gazing entreatyingly at me. "Get me a sandwich or something to eat? I'm _starving_." She said the word with such emphasis it almost reminded me of Ace.

Laughing, I nodded, and continued on inside. "Will do."

* * *

><p>I ferried food and drinks to Damini for the rest of the journey through Jason's Knot. After the cooks figured out what I was taking extra food for, they press-ganged me into taking out meals for Grim and Whetu, Fourth's crazy-eyed navigator, as well. I didn't mind, after it turned out that I was taller than Whetu and so could stare him into submission quite easily when he refused to take the food. He was the type that focus on the task at hand, to the detriment of all else. Often I had to remind him that he had to eat and drink to keep his own effectiveness up.<p>

Kiiroen Island, and its twin, Akaen, rose out of the haze on the horizon on the third day after Jason's Knot. As we drew closer through the glassy calm seas, I found out why they had been given those evocative names.

Akaen, the larger of the two, was blanketed with red beech trees from the shoreline right up to the steepest ridges. Smaller, flatter Kiiroen was golden under the sunlight, huge fields of wheat and other grasses separated from each other by belts of deep green trees. In the valleys leading back into the interior of the island, lush oases of greenery flourished away from the burnishing sun.

"Akaen, soil too poor for agricultural use, unpopulated. Kiiroen, minor producer of wheat, barley, and nothing else, home to maybe two hundred people. Not worth much to a pirate," Marco muttered to me, pausing as he passed my perch on the railing. "Honestly, it beats me why these guys bothered with them. And I don't like mysteries like this."

There were already two ships docked in the small harbour at the island's main town, one a fat little merchant vessel that was sitting low in the water, and the other a sleek brigantine, rigged with crimson sails and a flag of the same colour flying proudly from the top of the mainmast.

Red—flat red, with no device or design, red the colour of blood. It meant no mercy would be shown to an enemy.

Well, we'd expected that at least.

We sailed onwards, around the headland to a wide bay arcing out to a distant sandspit, and laid anchor a way offshore. The landing boats began ferrying us to shore just before dark. I made the trip with Damini and Ace, listening to those two chattering on about something I didn't really understand.

It was that time of evening when the bright light of sunset is gone, and the soft grey light that is left seems to mute everything in preparation for the night. I felt calm, and ready for anything this island might throw at me.

At us, really. It was just starting to sink into my subconscious that I wasn't alone—there were two hundred of my crewmates and brothers here with me. From now on, I would never really be alone.

By the time we landed on the beach, our little boat juddering on the sandy bottom, someone had dragged a pile of driftwood together and started a bonfire. Thatch and a couple of the fourth division were happily poking at the burning logs, occasionally yelping in surprise as the dead twigs they held caught on fire. Then someone had the bright idea of bringing some of the food from the Bluefin ashore and roasting it over the fire.

Booze followed food, and from thereon, the rest of the night degenerated into a wild party. I would have been content to sit and watch from the sidelines, but at some stage Ace and Tad found me and dragged me into the revelry.

I wasn't sure when I fell asleep, but I woke with the dawn the next morning, clear-headed, if a little tired. I was sprawled flat on my back in the sand, my feet pressing up against someone's back, with someone else's feet in turn tangled in my outstretched arm. Someone close by was snoring thunderously.

I turned my head, looking to my right, and got a close-up view of Ace's Whitebeard tattoo. I looked left, and nearly mashed my nose against Thatch's knee.

There was nowhere to go but up. I sat up, wearily brushing sand from my back and trying to shake it out from underneath my shirt. At least I was still fully-clothed—the man at my feet was naked as the day he was born, and both Ace and Thatch were shirtless (unusual in Thatch's case, not so much in Ace's).

I caught a glimpse of bright orange cloth hidden on Ace's other side. He was facing away from me, one arm tucked underneath his head as a pillow, the other curved protectively around Damini, who was cuddled in close against his chest, clutching at him like he was some sort of overgrown teddy bear. Her red overrobe was spread out on the sand underneath her, her long black braid winding across it and onto the sand.

"Cute, aren't they?"

"You have a habit of sneaking up on people," I told Marco, glancing over my shoulder at the First-Division commander. He was standing right in my blind spot, a couple of metres away, a face on him like he was already planning how best to go about teasing the happy couple when they woke up.

"I do," he concurred, nodding amusedly. "I find it's one use of an imperceptible presence that never gets old."

"With an expression like that on your face, it's easy to imagine why." I kept my voice low, so I wouldn't wake any of the slumbering pirates around me. I probably needn't have worried—with the amount of alcohol that had been consumed last night, I would've been surprised had any of them woken up much before midday.

It was going to be a dull day, or morning at least—aside from a faint yellow glow near the horizon, the sky was covered in flat grey clouds. If the wind shifted later on in the afternoon, they might break apart enough to let the sun through. For now, though, there was no promise of it improving much.

"Since you're awake, you may as well come see if there's anything left that you might want for breakfast." Marco motioned towards the bonfire, where a couple of other early risers were coaxing the embers back into life. "If you've got a hangover, a bite to eat might help."

I shook my head. "I feel fine, actually. I'm just hungry." I blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep from the corners of my eyes, and rose to my feet. One last look at Ace and Damini brought a smile to my lips, and then I followed Marco through the tangle of our crewmates, to the open space that had been left around the bonfire.

"I'm glad Damini's making friends."

I didn't realise I'd spoken at first. Marco glanced back at me, his eyebrows raised quizzically, and only then did I realise that it had been my own voice sounding in my ears.

"Friends?" Marco shrugged, passing me a sausage on a stick and absently picking bits of charcoal off his own. "Does that look like 'friends' to you."

I gave the sleeping pair another long look. "I… well, maybe?" Ace had shifted while I wasn't looking, tucking Damini's head under his chin. I blinked, shook my head—and suddenly, what I was seeing wasn't so much their closeness as the lack of space between them.

"Huh?" I felt my jaw drop open, and hurriedly closed it. All at once my memory threw up moments from the past, Damini and Ace together, and things that hadn't registered in my mind at the time but suddenly made a lot of sense.

Marco chuckled as I turned back to him, his eyes half-lidded and glinting in the firelight. "Make that your second lesson in interpersonal relationships, eh."

"I can't believe I missed all that," I said, running my fingers through my hair and grimacing absently at how stiff and grimy it felt. "I thought I was fairly good at noticing things, but Damini's my best friend and I didn't have a clue she felt that way."

"Truth be told, Damini was a little obvious. Clever about hiding it, but it was clear she was hiding something, and the way she looks at him when she thinks no-one is watching was a fairly good clue as to what exactly she was hiding." Marco smiled, and his gaze to the glowing sky for a moment. When he looked back, he added cryptically, "Ace is a lot harder to figure out."

"He treats Damini the same way he does everyone else," I said, frowning. "Until now, at least."

"Not true," Marco said abruptly. "He does, but he's conscious of doing so. But when he's asleep, he can't stop himself from doing anything."

There was a strange note in his voice. I stayed silent for a long while, toying with the meaning of it in my head.

Time passed, and the sun rose, the daylight passing from the yellow new-dawn stage to dull grey cloudy-day luminescence. I found a map of the island in a pile of stuff that had been brought ashore yesterday, and spent a few hours familiarizing myself with the topography.

Kiiroen was almost crescent-shaped, a semicircular ridge of golden hills around the wide bay in which the Bluefin rode lazily at anchor. The headland between us and the town of Forsetti formed the northern end of this ridge, while a flat, marshy sandspit at the far end of the bay sprang from the southern end, reaching out as if it wanted to cross the channel and touch Akaen's shores. There were two homesteads marked on the map, both perched on the ridge overlooking Forsetti's harbour. A rough track ran between them and the outskirts of the town.

The slumbering pirates began to wake up around eleven o'clock, silently enduring hangovers of varying severity. No-one wanted to make too much noise—not even Thatch, today a mere ghost of his usual rambunctious self.

Despite this, it was all business today. Weapons were found, and swordsmen sat down to polish their blades while the gunners cleaned their pistols, making sure the mechanisms were working in top order.

Marco disappeared for a few hours after midday, then reappeared as suddenly as he'd gone. I couldn't ignore my curiosity, but when I asked where he'd been, he just made a vague gesture and smiled. "Around."

"Tell me next time," I grumbled, then remembered I was talking to a senior pirate. "Please?"

He grinned, then reached out and ruffled my hair. I'd pulled it free of its usual ponytail today, meaning to wash it if I got the chance. Blonde strands went everywhere.

"All right then," he said. Blinking furiously, I dragged my fingers through my hair in an effort to restore some sort of order to it, and watched him as he walked away, still smiling.

Later on that evening, I got my chance to wash. There was a stream tumbling down through the hills and down to the beach a few hundred yards south of our camp, so Damini and I purloined a bottle of shampoo and explored a way up the streambed, looking for a decent place to wash. Once we found a shallow pool, we stripped off our clothes, and crouched in the water, relaxing for a bit before we started the wash proper.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep with him," Damini said suddenly, after about ten minutes of comfortable silence. "I just… I couldn't help it."

"How come?" I gently prompted. She turned her gaze to me, and grinned sheepishly.

"He's… Well, he's _warm_. It wasn't anything like Tad was saying earlier. I was cold, and Ace—I guess being fire, it makes sense—he's warmer than everything else. That's all."

It sounded like there was a lot she wasn't saying, whether she meant to or not. I watched as she worked the shampoo through her hair, wondering if that was a shadow of a blush I saw on her dusky cheeks.

Eventually, I shook my head. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Sounds like it's just one of those things that happens."

I managed to wash the soap all through my hair without getting any in my eyes for once, and while I waited for Damini to finish, I scrubbed a handful of fine river sand over my arms and legs. It was uncomfortable, but it got rid of all the dirt the water had only loosened. I stood up, squeezed as much water from my hair as I could, and tied it up again, finger-combing it into a low ponytail. Then I threw on all my clothes again, and perched on a handy rock to wait for Damini. Her robes took a lot of organizing, and then some more.

It was getting on towards five o'clock when we got back to the camp, and the day's clouds were beginning to dissipate. A pair of Fourth's women immediately cornered us and demanded to know where we'd washed; we pointed them towards the stream, and then Damini went to find Ace, while I snagged another sausage from the bonfire-cooks. Turning my back on the camp, I stared up at Kiiroen's hills, and decided I was going to go for a walk.

It was surprising how quickly the noise of the camp dropped away as I climbed into the hills. There was an old trail between wheat paddocks, overgrown by tussock and wild clover, populated by huge bumblebees. It led from the sand dunes at the back of the beach up onto the tops of the lower hills. It was steep at first—I started to feel the burn in my thigh and calf muscles quite quickly, thought it was nothing I couldn't ignore.

Once the track came out onto the hilltops, it flattened out somewhat. I followed it right up to the ridge, and looked out to the sea on either side of the island.

Gilded yellow by the emerging sunlight, Kiiroen's wheatfields glowed. Akaen was a gloomy sentinel of red, looming just below the sun. Direct sunlight wasn't going to last much longer, I realised. Was it summer or winter? Winter, I hoped. If it was this gloomy in summer I really didn't envy Kiiroen's residents.

Looking down the way I had come, I could see the Bluefin, floating at anchor out in the bay. The view was quite different ahead of me—there the island ended in cliffs, not a beach. I could hear the booming of surf echoing through the wind.

Then there was a new noise. Something crackled faintly, like grass underfoot.

Grass underfoot. I stilled, then turned and looked back over my shoulder.

Two people were walking through the field—people I didn't know. One was a tall, skinny guy; probably a couple of inches taller than me, but lankier as well. There was a girl trotting along behind him, long, loose dark hair fluttering out behind her in the wind. They wore bright clothes, and each had a knife tucked into their belts. Their manners were confident, maybe even bordering on arrogant—the man in particular was swaggering so much it looked like he had some sort of hip problem.

When they saw I'd spotted them, grins spread across their faces. "Well, hello there!" the man hailed me, waving. "We've been watching you guys down on the beach for a while now. How're you enjoying your stay on our island?"

Their island? My eyes narrowed, and I inspected the newcomers further. The man was a handsome fellow, with flyaway chestnut hair and eyes of the same colour, but the girl was better-looking from a distance, when I hadn't noticed the sunken, skeletal look of her face. There was a skull-and-crossbones brand tattooed on her forehead—I didn't recognize the device of the vertically split skull.

"Well, anyway," the man continued, smiling like the cat that got the cream. "We've been waiting for one of you to come out alone. Wasn't very wise of you, was it, Whitebeard's dog?"

I considered them for a moment. The man stepped forward again, drawing his knife and tapping the rusted blade against the base of his thumb. He said something again; I tuned it out this time, and thought.

Then I turned and ran. I took the path down the hill towards the cliffs, my bare feet pounding across the hard earth.

I heard the other pirates curse. Stones and dry grass dug into my feet.

If I'd guessed right, they'd split up, to try and block my escapes along the side of the cliff, and trap me with open air to my back. With only two people, it was a flawed plan—they might block my escape, but they were halving their own strength as well.

I reached the bare, rocky bit at the edge of the cliff and barely slowed down, skidding across loose gravel as I turned left. My feet screamed at me, rough pebbles digging into their worn-out soles. I nearly stumbled, my hands reaching for the ground as if I could steady myself without actually touching it. There were several larger rocks lying around—and the thought flashed through my mind that they might make good weapons.

Then the man burst out of the fields a few yards ahead of me, a long knife in each hand, and I put my embryonic plan into action.

"So all Whitebeard's pirates do is run away?" he yelled scornfully at me. As I got closer I saw his lips go taut in a manic smirk, even as his eyes widened, realising I wasn't slowing down. He brought his hands up in front of himself, brandishing the knives threateningly. I threw myself to the side and forward around him, grabbing hold of his arm and using it as a pivot. He stumbled, put off balance by my weight.

His other knife still came flashing around to cut me, but by that time my momentum had carried me out of reach. I instinctively lunged in close, and up came my free hand, clutching the rock I'd picked up in a split second.

Gracelessly, I bashed it against the side of his head as hard as I could.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, blood streaming from the wound on his temple. I backed a few steps away, half-expecting him to stand up again.

The girl came running at me, screaming like a banshee. I automatically lobbed my rock at her—taken by surprise, she forgot to dodge, and tried to block it with her forearms. It hit her on the wrist—her knife dropped from nerveless fingers.

With her one good arm, she groped for another weapon. I ran straight at her, intent on getting to her before she rearmed herself. She drew a pistol just as I reached her, brandishing it wildly. I ducked aside and forward just as she squeezed the trigger.

The report of the gun just about deafened me. I clutched my ear with one hand, and simultaneously drew back my other and punched her in the nose.

She staggered, blinking furiously and gasping. I punched her again, this time with my other hand, angling it slightly upwards. This time I felt something underneath my knuckles _give._

She fell backwards, her body strangely loose. Her eyes were half-open and glassy, bright red blood covering the lower half of her face. She wasn't breathing.

I leaned down and pressed my palm against the left side of her chest, perhaps an inch below her collarbone. I couldn't feel any heartbeat—if there was one, it was incredibly faint.

That done, I braced my hands on my knees and bent over, gasping as leftover adrenaline left my system. My hands hurt, and the soles of my feet felt like they'd been rubbed raw. My limbs felt like overboiled noodles, blood thudded through my veins like it was going to burst through my skin and escape… my ear still rang with the noise of the gunshot. I gently rubbed my knuckles, staring at the two dead pirates.

"That was nicely done."

I turned my head, and out the corner of my eye I saw Marco walking across the rocky ground towards me, his jacket luminescent purple in the sunlight. I could have sworn I saw blueish flames flickering around his shoulders for a moment, but they disappeared the next moment, and I decided I was imagining it.

"Are you alright?" he continued. I couldn't decide if it was a note of relief or concern I heard in his voice.

I nodded anyway, and straightened, bracing my hands on my hips instead. "Yeah, I'm fine. They didn't even touch me, I don't think."

"Well, you look like you're in one piece, so that's all good, I guess." Marco smiled broadly at me. "Now I'm convinced you come from a fighting background," he said, nodding at the dead girl on the road. "Break the nose, then smash the bone up into the brain. It's a classic military unarmed killing method. Funny thing is, pirates don't tend to use it, unless they're fallen Marines."

I stared at the girl for a long moment. "It's a quick method, I'll give it that."

She couldn't have been all that older than Damini—still stick-thin and girlish, with narrow hips and small breasts, wearing heavy makeup to disguise the spots on her face. There were bruises on her wrists, shaped like finger-marks.

"I don't get it," I told Marco, bending down to hook my arms underneath her and lift her small body clear of the ground. "I don't remember ever learning how to do these things, but I can do them anyway."

"Well, it might be muscle memory at work," Marco said as I headed down to the edge of the cliff. A quick heft, and the girl was tumbling down through the air, her long black hair streaming out behind her. She hit the calm water in the bay below, water fountaining up around her, then sank.

I turned back to Marco, and blinked in surprise. He had followed me to the edge, the corpse of the man slung over his shoulder. As I watched, he sent the man down after his comrade, watching as the two bodies sank.

"You're surprised," he said, glancing at me out the corners of his eyes. "Didn't think a pirate would bother with this?"

"I wasn't sure," I said truthfully. The ripples on the sea were beginning to fade now, the dead pirates lost to the depths. "How did you know?"

"Mainly it was an educated guess. But I'm slowly learning to read you."

Slowly, we drifted back to the path, walking on towards the ridge. The golden atmosphere was fading as the sun left the wheat fields, sinking behind the mountains on Akaen. With it went the day's heat. A cool zephyr rustled through the wheat heads, bringing a breath of fresh sea air behind it.

"Anyway," Marco continued, "you'd be right. Most pirates wouldn't bother with burying their enemies. Too much like work!" He let out a rough chuckle, one that I couldn't help laughing along with.

"Then why do you do it?" I asked. The sun was right behind him now, shining like a golden halo through his blonde hair and throwing his face into shadow. I had to turn away from him in the end, and give my eyes a rest.

"Care to guess?" he archly enquired. I glanced back at him momentarily, squinting against the seraphic light that surrounded him.

"I wouldn't have the first clue, I'm sorry."

Marco chuckled again, affably shaking his head. "I guess not. Well, it's no big mystery. I grew up on an island a little like this—tracks through the wheat, and everything. You didn't even leave a dead bird in the fields if you could help it, because it makes an unbelievable mess if it gets ploughed up again after the harvest." He made a disgusted face, and added, "And if that happened, you spent the next winter wondering if whatever it was had died of disease, and if you were going to get sick and maybe die if you ate the bread the wheat had made. Graveyards and bonepiles are set well aside from agricultural land for a reason."

"So it's force of habit?" The last of the sun sank below Akaen's peak, and Marco was Marco again, plain and shadowed by the dusk.

"I suppose you could say that," he admitted. "Thought there's also the fact that I'd like be buried nice and neatly once someone gets the better of me, and karma says I've got a better chance of that happening if I bury my own opponents. What goes around, comes around."

"I see." I considered him for a moment. "Can I ask you another question?"

He looked vaguely amused. "Fire away."

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be down with the guys, preparing for whatever's gonna happen tonight?"

"As it happens, I'm on an errand," Marco explained, the vaguely amused look morphing into a full-blown smile. "Our paths happened to cross, that was all. Like they seem to a lot of the time."

"What sort of an errand?" To be honest, I don't know why I kept on asking so many questions. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd told me to shut up and keep my nose out of other peoples' business, but he just smiled, and played along.

"Well, if you keep on following me you'll see soon enough. But now it's my turn to ask you a question: How's that riddle of yours going? You figured anything new out?"

"Myself being the riddle?" I clarified. "Same as usual. I'm doing a whole lot of thinking, and not much realizing of any great truths. Except…" I trailed off then, as a new thought entered my mind. Marco waited patiently for me to continue.

And I did, eventually. "I'm actually beginning to wonder if I even want to get my memories back. The life I'm living at the moment is more than satisfying."

"That's good to hear," Marco gave me a sidelong look, his smile no longer amused, just… warm. "You didn't seem to fit in very well at first. You're still not there in the thick of every happening like Damini is, but you're just _there._ It's a different sort of fitting in, but it suits you."

I laughed in agreement, and a real smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "It's a happy thought, fitting in."

"And that in turn is good to hear," Marco nodded decisively. "Now, though, here goes my errand. Watch your step—the path here is tricky."

There was a hollow in the hillside, at the head of a stream that trickled down into a steep-sided valley it had carved out over the years. It was lined by trees and thick pockets of gorse, but I could hear rough speech and shouts drifting out from underneath the spreading branches of the old pines.

We left the ridge, heading down into the hollow. The path was tricky, wandering back and forth across the slope and covered with smooth, rounded stones that rolled underneath our feet at the slightest prompting. I stumbled more than once, half-slipping down after Marco.

"We're going to see the pirates." I guessed. The hollow provided a hidden shelter I wouldn't have guessed to look in, hidden from the foot of the hills by the hills themselves, and from the ridge by the trees. The grove looked impassable until you approached it from the side and slightly below, at which point a narrow corridor through the gorse became apparent.

There was a man sitting up on a low branch near the entrance to the thicket. As we approached, he stared long and hard at us—at Marco in particular. Casually, Marco shifted his hands to his hips, hooking his thumbs in the top of his sash. The movement tugged his jacket open further, exposing the brand on his chest.

The man in the tree promptly scrambled to the ground and dashed inside the thicket. Shortly afterwards, we heard the voices abruptly die down.

"That's one way to make an impression," Marco sighed, and stepped in underneath the shade of the trees.

The passage was a lot shorter than it looked from the outside. Only a few steps took us out into dusk again, into a decent-sized clearing with pirates crowded around the edges, on top of rocks and perched up in the trees like brightly-coloured parakeets. On the downhill side of the clearing was a gap in the trees, a small tor overlooking the valley below.

On top of the tor sat a woman in a dark maroon velvet dress, with padded shoulders and long sleeves. The skirt was full and ruffled, the sleeves long and tight around her arms. Double lines of lace marched up her bodice to her neck, adorned by a diadem of gold and sapphires.

The woman was as beautiful as her dress—auburn-haired, cascading in loose waves around her shoulders. Her lips were blood-red—the bright scarlet of the blood that still stained my knuckles. Her eyes might have been grey or blue or green, but whichever colour, they were incredibly pale. Her gaze had a transfixing quality to it, augmented by the thick shadow around them. Her skin was pale and perfect, contrasting shockingly with all the red about her. At first glance she was incredibly self-assured, but a deeper examination told me her jaw was clenched tight, her lips pressed close together. She was hiding some emotion.

That was another thing. All the pirates around us seemed expectant, even nervous. I saw a lot of hands on sword hilts, and hooked in the triggers of pistols. But no-one made a move to threaten us. It seemed there was a certain sort of etiquette to be had in meetings like these.

"Oh," I said quietly. "That's what you're doing. Delivering a declaration of war."

* * *

><p><em>Word Count: 6600<em>

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**


	11. Birds Of a Feather

**Something In The Water**

_Chapter Ten: Birds Of a Feather_

* * *

><p>It was only a few steps to the center of the clearing. Marco halted a couple of metres in front of the rock where the woman sat, and met her transfixing gaze with a calm, calculating look of his own. I stood beside and slightly behind him, keeping a suspicious eye on the rest of the crew.<p>

There was a silence that dragged on, and on. The pirates around us shifted uncomfortably, their eyes alternately settling on Marco and the woman on the rock. I guessed she was their captain—one of them, anyway. Thatch had been dead sure that theirs was a dual-captain crew.

Finally, the woman on the rock sighed, and gracefully slid down onto the turf. "Welcome, I suppose. There's no need to introduce yourself—everyone knows of Marco the Phoenix. Your companion, on the other hand…" Her pale eyes slid across to me, lingering longest on my knuckles, where blood still glistened from my earlier encounter with the two pirates.

I kept my arms relaxed at my sides, resisting the urge to cross them in front of my chest. For all she knew, I was a veteran pirate, with the scars of a hundred battles. A pirate like that wouldn't feel nervous under the scrutiny of a rookie, even a captain like her.

I made sure to keep my expression mild and unchallenging, though. No point in antagonizing her any more than we had to.

"This is Loki," Marco said, a hint of amusement in his expression. He didn't add anything to the introduction, deliberately leaving the question in her eyes unanswered. "And yourself? It would be nice if we both knew who we were dealing with."

The woman chuckled abruptly, her eyes narrowing. "Where are my manners? I am Amarna, second captain of the Lightyear Pirates. It's too bad Ilario isn't here, but my dear brother does like to explore. I do hope none of your crew have stumbled across him. You wouldn't like his brand of hospitality."

Marco gave no indication he'd acknowledged the thinly veiled threat; not a single tensed muscle or unguarded look. "It sounds like he probably wouldn't like ours, in that case. There's no telling what Thatch would do, in particular."

_Probably challenge him to a drinking game,_ I thought, and had to fight to keep my expression straight.

Amarna sighed, her scarlet lips tugging upwards at the corners. There was no amusement in the expression. "I know why you're here. It's about territory, no?"

"Exactly," Marco said bluntly. "Kiiroen and Akaen Islands have belonged to the Whitebeard Pirates for ten years now, and even rookies such as yourselves should know what happens to crews who encroach on a Yonkou's patch."

"Mmm, we do know," Amarna said lightly, turning away and pacing in a neat half-circle before she lifted her eyes to Marco's once again. "We had a friend once, who crossed Kaidou. Needless to say, that friend is no longer anywhere on this earth!" She gave a high, trilling laugh, and a couple of her crew joined in.

Abruptly, she broke off, and as the crew hurriedly quieted their own laughs, she added, smiling angelically: "But we also know how Whitebeard's crew does things differently. You're rather more subtle. You ask some quite interesting questions. I heard from Barlack how his own subjugation went."

"I wouldn't quite call it subjugation," Marco said affably. "It was his choice in the end."

"'Ally with us, or die,'" Amarna said dramatically, pulling a scornful face. "Some choice!"

"There are people that would say there is a choice in that," Marco replied. "But you also made a choice when you trespassed on our land. Can you blame us for protecting what's ours?"

"Enough dancing around the issue." Amarna's mocking smile dropped from her face. "When there's nothing in it for us, what do you expect? The answer is no."

"I see." Marco's expression changed, going somber and serious. "Well, I'd hoped for a happy ending, but if it's what you want…"

"It is," Amarna said, placing a savage emphasis on her words. Anger flashed across her visage, and she turned and leapt back up onto the peak of her tor, standing up straight and proud as she sneered at us. "You Yonkou crews are all the same, parading around thinking you own the world! The trouble is, unlike all those other bastards that think the same, you've actually got the power to back it up!"

Her voice lowered dramatically- I had to strain to hear her next words.

"But every dog has its day. Sooner or later, along will come a new, powerful crew, and like all the previous holders of the title of Emperor, you will be deposed. Eight years ago, Red-Haired Shanks defeated Cohen Barbary and took his title. Today, the Lightyear Pirates will take yours!"

A deafening roar of support sprang up from the watching crew; gunshots rang out and swords were brandished high in the air.

"She talks the talk alright," Marco observed. "A lot of being captain is knowing what to say to your crew, and when to say it. That said, I haven't come across a speechmaker like that in a while."

"What now?" I asked. The pirates nearest us were starting to show a bit too much interest in us for my liking—grinning and making obscene gestures, their weapons never too far from hand.

"That would be our exit cue. So that's your final choice?" Marco called up to Amarna. Not lowering herself to answer, she simply spat on the grass at our feet.

Marco shrugged. "Fair enough. Come on, Loki." He turned and moved back towards the passage through the trees. I followed him no further than a step before the Lightyear Pirates closed the gap in their circle, cutting off our escape.

A click resounded in the sudden quiet. "Hold it," Amarna said, her voice low and dangerous. "Where do you think you're going?"

I turned, and looked back at her.

She was holding a gun—not the ornate pistol that had been tucked into her sleeve, but a functional, metallic weapon with a short barrel and a business end streaked with black. It was pointed straight at the back of Marco's head, Amarna's aim steady and sure.

"We're going back to our own crew, obviously," Marco said. "I'm not planning to fight now—I don't want my brothers and sisters to think I tried to take all the fun for myself, do I? They can be pretty obnoxious about that sort of thing."

He was completely at ease, no fear at all evident in his expression or the lazy posture he held himself in. I thought back to the conversation we'd had that night weeks ago, and let my own lips curve into an accompanying smile.

Amarna smiled as well, but hers was fierce and cruel. "What makes you think we'll let you go?" She leapt earthwards again, her aim never wavering. "Is Whitebeard himself as cowardly as his crew?"

Marco turned and regarded the woman out of lazily half-lidded eyes. "It's funny how whenever anyone tries to insult us, cowardice is always the first charge. Can't you think of anything more creative?"

Her lips pressed tightly together, Amarna simply raised her pistol and shot him point-blank in the chest.

I started violently, reaching for a weapon I didn't have. The Lightyear Pirates barely had time to laugh before bright bluebell flames flickered into life, the hole just underneath Marco's collarbone sealing over and disappearing into the spreading fire.

"Loki, get onto the rocks," he ordered flatly. Neatly, almost casually, he shifted his weight forward, and then leapt at the wide-eyed Amarna, transforming in midair to a giant, long-necked bird made of the same brilliant blue flames that had healed his wound.

Right about then, all hell broke loose.

I ran for the tor as fast as my legs would take me, gunshots ringing out in the air around me. By some miracle none hit me; I stumbled and dodged through them in just the right way to avoid them all. They weren't aimed at me, in any case—yelling and screaming their shock, all the pirates were focused on was Marco, or the bird that had been him.

I made it to the tor, and scrambled to the top, half-crouching as I clung to the cracked stone with fingers and toes. Abruptly, there was a new feel in the air—maybe it was not being among the screaming pirates around and below me.

A wave of _something_ surged through my mind. My heart hammered against my ribcage, my breaths coming quick and fast as my limbs spasmed with tremors, nearly making me lose my grip on the tor. Suddenly I was scared, I was _terrified. _I gasped for breath, my eyes wide and filling with involuntary tears as a sour taste flooded my mouth.

With the little bit of my mind that was still functioning, I forced myself to look back—and that was when something slammed into my left shoulder, knocking me forwards off the tor. What felt like steel bars clamped around my arm, and scarcely a moment later something grasped my other shoulder, claws digging through my jacket and my shirt into my skin.

I fell through empty space for what seemed an eternity before it occurred to my frazzled mind that I wasn't, in fact, falling. The terror was quickly receding from my mind, to be replaced by a dull sort of shock.

I realised my eyelids were screwed tightly shut, and forced them to open. There was nothing but the wind gusting around me, and a mere couple of metres below my feet, the tussock-covered hillside rushing past at a speed that made my vision blur. Blue wings beat rapidly at the air, struggling to gain a little more height as we only just managed to clear the crest of a hill.

There was the Bluefin, and the bonfire down on the beach, a glowing speck in the dusky landscape. The hillside dropped away in a bluff underneath us, sweeping down into a narrow valley, a wide stream following the curve of the hill down towards the sea.

I twisted my neck, straining to look up at the phoenix. The blue flames, too bright against the fading sky, made me look away again. I closed my eyes, and tried to draw my legs up to my chest in faint comfort. There was a different sort of fear invading my mind now.

I heard his wings creak, and felt him bank to the side, swerving in closer to the flat peak of the hill. Then the grip of his claws loosened around my shoulders—my eyes barely had time to snap open in horror before he let go of me completely.

I dropped three or four metres through the air, hitting the hillside feet-first and tumbling forward with the momentum. I tucked my shoulder in and rolled, head over heels at least three or four times before a gorse bush painfully halted my progress. I untangled my limbs, dragged myself out from amongst the prickly twigs, and flopped down on the ground, counting my wounds and letting myself unwind.

My back was going to be one big bruise tomorrow. The soles of my feet were tender and stinging—I hoped I hadn't managed to flay them raw. I could taste blood in my mouth from where I'd bitten my cheek, and my head felt rattled and dizzy. I'd wrenched my right shoulder landing on it like I had, and my hands were covered in dust and grass and gorse scratches. There were smears of blood on my palms from where I'd tried to brush some of the stuff off, and opened a scratch wide enough to bleed. And I felt drained, more mentally than physically. Flying obviously didn't agree with me.

I heard footsteps crunching through the dry grass toward, pebbles in the dirt cracking against each other.

"Say something if you're alive, eh." Marco's voice said, from somewhere behind me. He sounded about the same as he always did, as if being shot wasn't enough excitement to put a bit of life in that calm voice of his.

"I think I'm afraid of heights," I grunted, pushing myself into a sitting position and tentatively brushing myself off, ignoring my aching body's protests. "Or rather, the ground."

"Really? You seem fine when you're up in the rigging on the ships." He crouched down in front of me, within arm's reach, and watched as I took off my jacket and picked the gorse prickles out of it. His claws had ruined both shoulders, ripping right through all three layers of fabric and stretching it out of shape around the collar.

I pressed down the strange sadness that was rising in my gut, and, frowning with appropriate displeasure, announced, "You owe me a new jacket." Turning my attention to my shirt, I noted the same damage on my right shoulder, faint spots of blood staining the fabric a darker red than it already was. It would have been salvageable if it weren't for the claw rips.

"And a new top, it seems," Marco sighed. "Sorry about that. I probably shouldn't have taken you with me."

"It's all good," I shrugged, biting back a wince when my shoulder twinged viciously. "Just get me something else to wear and we'll call it even."

He chuckled lightly, watching as I tied the arms of my jacket around my waist, turning it into an impromptu sarong. "You're pretty calm about that. If I'd ruined anything of… say, Antiope's, she would have torn strips out of me in repayment."

I considered the idea for a moment, grinning openly. "I won't say the idea's not tempting, but in the end it's just clothes. Easily replaced."

"Agreed," Marco said emphatically, and chuckled again. "You ready to head back now?"

"I think so…" I gave my arms an experimental stretch, rotating the joints and wiggling my fingers. Then, as Marco stood up, I tested my legs, and hauled myself to my feet again. Apart from a twinge in my hip, I felt fine. My feet ached, but it was the sort of ache I could ignore. "Yeah, I'm all good."

We started off down the hillside. It was slow going at first—there was no path, so we had to beat a path through scrubby gorse bushes and clumps of tussock all the way. We ended up in the streambed in the bottom of the valley, and though the trail there was free of gorse and other greenery, there were rocks to stumble on and slime in the stream- if I didn't look where I was stepping, my feet would slip out from underneath me and I'd fall flat on my ass in the water.

And as soothing as the cool water was to my various scrapes and bruises, it wasn't worth a bruised tailbone.

"What now?" The question took me by surprise—I suppose some subconscious part of my mind had been working on it while I concentrated on keeping myself from falling in the stream again.

It didn't faze Marco in the slightest. "Well, there's only one thing we can do, is there?" he said conversationally, wading through the center of the stream to get to a bit of clear bank on the other side. "We can't let their trespassing go unpunished. Neroli and Panther have already gone to scuttle their ship—they wouldn't have needed it if they had chosen to join us, and now they won't be needing it anyway—so they can't go anywhere in the meantime, and early tomorrow morning we'll go hunting pirates. If we're lucky, we might get some smart ones who'll vote to save their own skins and join us."

"You sound so sure we'll win," I commented. He turned back to me, raising his eyebrows in a look of amused disbelief.

"And you're not? If we want to be practical, I counted just under a hundred pirates back there. Even taking into consideration the possibility that they have some of their crew stashed away somewhere, we've got around twice their number. And then, there's the question of experience. They're rookie pirates, fresh out of Paradise. Most of us have between five and twenty years of experience at pirating, all here in the New World. Even if we don't count people like Ace, who are incredibly powerful individuals even compared to the rest of us, I would say it's a safe bet to say we're going to be the victors in this little war between crews."

"True," I acquiesced. Then, as something niggled at the back of my mind, I frowned in confusion. "What do you mean by 'Paradise'?"

A slow smile tugged at Marco's lips, and his eyelids drooped further closed, transforming his expression into something decidedly predatory. "'Paradise' is the first half of the Grand Line. We call it that because, compared to here in the New World, that's exactly what it is—a paradise for those who are weak, or those who want to be big fish in a small pond."

He and I locked gazes for a moment, before he turned back to the streambed and started walking again. "When you're not used to the New World, you've got to play it carefully, otherwise it's likely to chew you up without a second thought."

I stayed silent for the rest of the walk back to the beach. Having been given a taste of the world I'd gotten myself into, I was going to have to do some serious thinking as to whether it was the sort of world I wanted.

* * *

><p>The first of the stars were just beginning to twinkle into existence in the darkening sky when we got back to the camp. Marco disappeared into the crowd to find Thatch, sparing a guarded backwards glance for me before he went. Pondering its significance, I wandered off the find Ace and Damini.<p>

Ace was nowhere to be seen, but Damini was sitting near the bonfire with Grim and a few of the other older pirates. She did a perfect double take when I found her, glancing towards me and grinning before she turned back to the map she was studying, then frowning and staring back at me while her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"What happened to you?" she squeaked, dropping her pencil and standing up to examine me in more detail. "You look shellshocked! What's with these scrapes?"

"I got into a fight with a gorse bush," I explained, putting on a steadfast expression. I wasn't sure why I wanted to keep my adventure with Marco a secret. Perhaps because I didn't have many secrets of my own. "It's all right though. They look worse than they are."

"Perhaps they do, but infections can be tricky."

Like Marco, First's doctor had a habit of sneaking up on people. In his case, however, I was fairly sure it was because Lilian was too busy with other problems to worry about manners. His soft voice and grandfatherly features made it impossible to hold anything against him.

"Hang on a minute, I'm sure I've got some peroxide here. If you'll permit me, I'll take care of those scrapes for you."

Firelight flickering over his gnarled hands, he dug at the pack hanging on his belt, and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid and a swatch of cotton. I watched carefully as he dampened the cloth with whatever was in the bottle, then reached out and gently dabbed at a scrape that stretched across my cheek from my ear to just below my eye.

It stung faintly, and I blinked in surprise—I could have sworn the scrapes were deeper. Perhaps I'd been telling more of the truth than I realised when I said they were worse than they looked.

"Ah, see—there's why you get these sorts of wounds looked at." Lilian gently tapped my palm with a bony forefinger, and manouevred it around so that the firelight illuminated it, making the gorse splinter that was embedded in the ball of my thumb plainly visible. "Like this, only smaller—that's what causes infections. You've got to get them out before they have time to fester."

"So let's get it out," I said dryly, picking at the splinter with my fingernails. I managed to get hold of the end, but when I tried to pull it out, my fingers slipped, and the splinter remained stubbornly stuck in my skin.

Smiling knowingly, Lilian handed me a pair of tweezers. I set to work chasing around the splinter and the fragments of it that got left behind after I pulled out the rest of it, while Lilian doused the rest of my scrapes with peroxide.

"All done," he said at last, and capped the peroxide bottle again, nodding in satisfaction. "You should be fine now. Just try not to reopen any of those deeper cuts." He disappeared into the crowd of pirates again.

"He's right about infections, you know," one of the pirates Damini had been sitting with put in, smiling faintly. "There was a guy I knew who was guttin' fish once, and the knife slipped, sliced his thumb up a bit—not very badly, just so there was a bit o' blood. A couple o' weeks later, his hand was all swole up, leakin' pus all over the place. He had to get it amputated in the end—the docs couldn't save it. Just goes to show how easily stuff can screw you over."

Not to be outdone, the two younger guys on the edge of the group started swapping their own stories of gruesome injuries they'd seen. I tuned them out, and focused on the discussion that had sprung up between Antiope, Tad, and First's helmsman, who had just sat down next to Grim. I wasn't the only one listening carefully—Damini and Grim herself were eavesdropping quite studiously, under the guise of plotting charts on an oceanic map.

"…not like Panther to be late," Antiope was saying. She looked worried; her jaw was tense, her eyebrows drawn together in a troubled frown. "Neroli's got a good head on her shoulders as well."

"We've got a couple of guys out on the trails, looking out for them," the helmsman rumbled, his face unreadable. "If they're not back in an hour, Commander Marco says he's going to send someone out to look for them. Scuttling a ship shouldn't take four hours with someone like Panther along for the ride."

Damini glanced at me, frowning as she tried to piece together the story. Grim none too gently poked her arm with the point of her pen and glared pointedly at Damini, then at the chart. Damini made an apologetic face, then as soon as Grim concentrated on her own chart again, impishly stuck her tongue out at the old navigator.

I bit my lip to stop myself from chuckling. With what we'd overheard, it didn't seem the right atmosphere to laugh.

With half a mind to dig my notebook out from wherever I'd hidden it, I leaned back against the log Damini was sitting on, and gazed up at the night sky.

By now, the midnight-blue expanse was covered with stars all but the brightest hidden by the light of the bonfire. There were constellations I had never seen before up there alongside famous ones like the Snake and the Archer. Several of the older pirates swore blind there was a naked woman up there somewhere.

The only constellation I'd bothered to learn was the Cross, which pointed south and never changed its position in the sky. It seemed like an important bit of information to know.

One time, back on the Moby Dick, I'd seen a meteor streak across the horizon. It seemed so long ago now. The older sailors said that time passed in strange ways out at sea- right now, I could happily believe that.

Then, over the hubbub of the pirates around the bonfire, I heard a shout. It was answered by another shout, and another one, closer and louder than either of the first two. Reluctantly, I looked away from the stars, and around at the gathering, looking for the shouters.

Then, a fourth shout rang out, louder and closer still. _"Hey! Where's the doc?"_

Conversations started to die down, as we all looked around in confusion. I stood up, and started to move through the crowd around the bonfire, towards the end of the beach that led to the town.

There was a small group of people hurrying back along the beach, their torch illuminating four people in the bunch. They were moving oddly, as if they didn't have enough legs between them.

A small, curly-haired woman stalked past me, the expression on her face urgent and worried. She was Priscilla June, a fourth-divisioner Neroli had informed me was Panther's lover. Her dark eyes were wide with worry; she reached out as if she could bring him closer by sheer force of will.

"Panther?" she called, loping up to the group just as they stepped within reach of the bonfire's light. "Shit, _Panther!"_

Both Panther and Neroli were being supported—carried, really—by the two guys that had been looking out for them further along the beach. All four of them were covered in blood—Panther's and Neroli's blood.

The two were covered in wounds from head to foot.

Lilian brushed past me, followed closely by Fourth's doctor, Restram, and his apprentice. As the group manouevred themselves closer towards the bonfire, the doctors spread out a thick, clean blanket on the sand. The two watchmen carefully laid their injured charges down on the blankets.

A circle of silent pirates was slowly building up around them, taking care not to block the light so the doctors could work. I spotted Thatch, his usually jovial expression instead a harsh frown, and Kestrel next to him, her arms crossed, her lips pressed tight in anger. Marco crouched a few feet away from Panther, just watching as the doctors swiftly began cleaning and dressing each of the wounds.

"You're like a puzzle someone's tried to take apart," Aleshanee commented to Panther, ignoring her master's warning frown. "The wounds are mostly very clean. Too clean. I've never heard of anything like this. No, don't try to talk," she added as Panther made a faint gurgling noise. "Your throat's a mess. I think whoever did this got your voice box again."

"It is strange…" Lilian bent to examine one of Panther's injuries, washing the blood away so he could get a good look at the edges of the cut flesh.

"Strange?" Restram asked, briefly looking up from his treatment of Neroli, the less injured of the two. Neroli at least could still sit up, and now she was holding her blood-soaked tunic against her chest as the doctor dealt with a nasty let of lesions on her back.

"Yes, strange… They're old scars," Lilian announced, his frown deepening gravely. "It's as if all the wounds they've ever received have reopened, as if they were never healed in the first place."

Priscilla knelt by Panther's head, snarling in impotent rage. "Who was it? Panther, please…" Her voice took on a pleading note and trailed away to nothing as she stared at the ugly slash across Panther's face.

Neroli choked, and coughed, wincing as the lacerations on her back cracked open again. "Big guy… maybe as big as Commander Jozu, almost." She licked her dry lips before adding, "We ran into him on the way back from the ship. He didn't say anything, just reached out and touched my shoulder. And… this happened. I think my leg is broken. I snapped one of the bones in my shin when I was twelve. It feels exactly like it did then."

Marco opened his mouth to say something, but in the sudden silence, Damini beat him to it.

"Neroli, were you ever whipped?" she asked, biting her lip as she gestured towards the woman's back.

Neroli's gaze snapped to Damini, staring at her with wide hazel eyes. "A few years ago. How did you know?"

Damini breathed in, and let go of the air in a huge gusty sigh. "There's a Paramecia-class Devil Fruit that reopens old wounds. The power is activated via physical contact, and it makes you suffer through every single wound you've ever had all over again. It's called the Koutai-Koutai no Mi."

Neroli swallowed, and looked down at her hands and arms, her gaze flitting over the myriad small cuts marking her bare skin. "What a nasty piece of work…"

"I can believe that," Panther croaked. Priscilla squeaked, and bent down to kiss his bloody forehead. "I can remember a lot o' these slices. 'Least when they heal, there won't be any new scars, huh?"

Neroli nodded in agreement, holding an arm out for Restram's attention. "Wouldn't wanna mess up your pretty face any more, eh?" she slurred, head nodding back and forth, hands shaking. "Lily, I'm tired."

"That would be shock and blood loss," Lilian said briskly, as he and Aleshanee finished dressing the last of Panther's wounds. "Would someone give us a hand getting these two back to the Bluefin? They're going to need all our medical resources to survive this."

Priscilla and a few others volunteered immediately, and the rest of us watched silently as one of the landing boats was readied. As it slipped silently through the wavelets on the way back out to the Bluefin, a mutter spread through the crowd. It was a malicious sort of mutter, bent on revenge.

"Big guy, huh?" Thatch said at length. "What do you bet it was the captain?"

"I think you'd win that bet, whatever you chose to wager," Marco replied. His eyes were fixed on the hills, on a spot he and I knew hid the man who had hurt our crewmates.

There was a long silence, dragging on until the landing boat slipped back to the shore, carrying the five pirates that had accompanied the doctors and the injured back to the ship. Stony-faced, the other four stepped aside and watched as Priscilla strode up the beach, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, and stood, a picture of rage, in front of the two commanders.

"Please tell me we're going to go after that pack of sons-o'-bitches now. Otherwise, I think I'm gonna go on my own. I can't let them get away with this."

Those words, and what happened after that, would echo through my head for a long time after that night.

Without hesitating, Thatch stepped forward, clapping a supporting hand on Priscilla's shoulder. He looked around at the assembled pirates, meeting our eyes one at a time, and after a long pause, he spoke one sentence:

"We'll fight for our territory, but we'll kill for our nakama."

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><p><em>Word Count: 5186<em>

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**


	12. Interlude: Seven Weeks

**Something In The Water**

_Interlude: Seven Weeks_

A brisk dawn wind blew through the camp, driving loose sand across the ground and piling it up against the sleeping bodies around the ashes of the bonfire. Marco sighed, and fastidiously brushed the grit from the map he was studying.

The customary new-island party was done; today was business time.

It wasn't going to be particularly pleasant business, but then, piracy seldom was.

Of the thirteen or so pirates who were awake this early, only three remained in the camp, trying to resurrect the bonfire so they could cook breakfast. Marco had sent the others out to scout for the trespassing crew a few minutes ago, and he wasn't expecting to see them returning for a good while yet.

Kiiroen wasn't an island most of the Whitebeard Pirates were familiar with. Its only export, grain, wasn't something most pirates bothered with, and the ramshackle town on the northern coast looked so run-down and poor it wasn't surprising it had never been attacked by pirates. Marco suspected the only reason Whitebeard had added it to his territory was out of principle. None of the divisions had visited it in the ten years since.

So, compared to the Lightyear Pirates, who had been basing themselves in Kiiroen for almost two months now, the First and Fourth Divisions were at a disadvantage even before the battle had started.

Superior numbers and experience leveled the playing field somewhat, but Marco hated the thought of ignoring a possible weakness.

The map currently spread out across his lap was a relatively new one, freshly borrowed from Grim's collection. It depicted Kiiroen in all its underwhelming featurelessness. Marco ignored the homesteads and the town, and instead focused on the shape of the island itself, its ridges and valleys and streams and cliffs. Later on he'd head out and survey it from the air, as only he could.

Something crackled, and the breakfast team let out a trio of excited but quiet whoops as the wood they'd piled onto the bonfire caught alight. A wisp of smoke drifted across the campsite towards Marco, who paused for a moment and put his map aside. Planning could wait—for now, he was hungry.

On his way over to the bonfire, a flicker of orange among the comatose pirates caught Marco's eye. Further investigation revealed Ace's hat, making a wind-driven bid for freedom across the sand. Marco debated letting it go for a moment—it was a relatively new acquisition, and furthermore it was offensively bright.

On the other hand, Ace would be absolutely distraught. He loved the thing, for reasons no sane person could possibly comprehend.

As the wind pushed the hat up against a log of driftwood and kept it pressed there for a moment, Marco caught up to it, grabbing hold of the bull's skull medallion before it could blow away again. Hat thusly secured, he looked back at his sleeping nakama.

Now, how to find Ace… the hat was the first thing anyone usually noticed—without it, Ace's black curls blended in with the crowd of mostly black-haired and brunette pirates.

"Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way," Marco muttered under his breath. He stepped forward into the mess of spreadeagled limbs and collapsed bodies, holding back an amused chuckle at the state some of his nakama had gotten themselves into.

He found Thatch first, the pristine white of the other commander's pants standing out like a sore thumb even in what dull light there was. Loki was there too, flat on her back in the sand, breathing serenely as her eyes shuttled back and forth in an animated dream underneath closed lids. Unlike Thatch, and so many others, she was fully clothed. _Good for her_, Marco mused, then wondered why.

"Aha." Behind Loki was Ace, lying on his side with his back to Marco, a scrap of bronze cloth peeking out from underneath his shoulder. One arm was draped possessively across something huddled into his chest.

Marco quietly padded around to investigate, a slow smile spreading across his face. Ace had a tendency of keeping girls at arm's length, and was as subtly insistent about it as they were about throwing themselves at his feet. Yet here was Grim's rookie apprentice, cuddling up to him like he was an overlarge teddybear.

Smiling, Marco bent down, and set Ace's hat near the pair, turning it upside down and filling it with sand to keep it from blowing away again. Then he stood, intending to head back to the bonfire, but as he turned away, a rustle of sand sounded behind him.

He turned at the exact moment Loki sat up, tiredly brushing the sand from her clothes. She looked left, right, chuckled at the predicament of the man at her feet, and turned to Ace and Damini last.

Marco waited for a couple of moments, before he broke the silence. "Cute, aren't they?"

He watched in amusement as Loki's shoulders twitched ever-so-slightly. She hid her surprise well, half-turning to stare at him over her shoulder out of one blue eye.

"You have a habit of sneaking up on people," she tartly informed him, her strangely slanted eyes narrowing. Marco bit back a chuckle, in no doubt as to what she thought of that particular habit.

"I do. I find it's one use of an imperceptible presence that never gets old." Marco let his teasing smile linger, matching her gaze with one of his own.

Loki raised her eyebrows, and huffed good-naturedly. "With an expression like that on your face, it's easy to imagine why." She broke eye-contact, instead looking around at the sleeping pirates from under lowered lashes. Marco watched her expression change with the tiniest of movements, from tired to comfortable, and inwardly smiled.

"Well, since you're awake, you may as well come see if there's anything left that you might want for breakfast." He glanced over at the bonfire, now merrily crackling away, and the three cooks chatting amiably as they toasted sausages over the coals. Eyeing the bottles half-buried in the sand, he added, "If you've got a hangover, a bite to eat might help."

Loki shook her head, her eyes focusing on the bonfire. "I feel fine, actually. I'm just hungry." She stood up, and followed Marco through the maze of jumbled pirates to the clear space around the bonfire. "I'm glad Damini's making friends."

"Friends?" Marco bent, picking a pair of sausages out of the hot coals. "Does that look like 'friends' to you?"

Loki blinked in surprise. "I… well, maybe?" Her eyes flicked back to the sleeping pair, narrowing contemplatively. Marco counted a beat, maybe two—then her blue eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise.

"Huh?"

Marco couldn't help chuckling. Loki hurriedly closed her mouth, a faint dusting of pink staining her cheeks.

"Make that your second lesson in interpersonal relationships, eh."

"I can't believe I missed all that." She ran a hand through her loose blonde hair, a grimace hiding the last residual traces of embarrassment on her face. "I thought I was fairly good at noticing things, but Damini's my best friend and I didn't have a clue she felt that way."

"Truth be told, Damini was a little obvious. Clever about hiding it, but it was clear she was hiding something, and the way she looks at him when she thinks no-one is watching was a fairly good clue as to what exactly she was hiding." Looking away from Loki for a moment, he added, "Ace is a lot harder to figure out."

Loki frowned at him, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. "He treats Damini the same way he does everyone else. Until now, at least."

There was a strange expression on her face; her lips were pressed together tighter than usual, and her eyebrows were angled in the slightest of frowns. Frustration, Marco realized—but frustration directed at herself rather than her friends. He shrugged, outwardly unconcerned, and passed her a sausage-on-a-stick, while his inner self watched Loki for every little clue she might give away.

"Not true," he said, giving a little shake of his head. "He does, but he's conscious of doing so. But when he's asleep, he can't stop himself from doing anything."

Loki narrowed her eyes, cocking her head to the side and turning slightly away from him. She was well past the age where such a gesture could be considered cute, but she did it often enough that Marco guessed it had long since turned into habit. Her fingers tapped absently against her thighs as she considered his words.

Truthfully, it was more than he'd meant to say. Loki was smart; there was always the chance she'd put two and two together and work out what he suspected about Ace.

When Loki had first joined the Whitebeard Pirates, Marco had taken one look at her composed expression, the wiry muscles covering every inch of her lean frame, and alarm bells had gone off in his head. It wasn't unheard of for Marines to try planting moles in powerful pirate crews; it wouldn't even have been the first time they'd tried with Pop's crew. Whitebeard himself had seen the possibility, but for whatever reason, he'd seen fit to accept Loki along with Damini anyway.

So for the next few weeks, Marco had made sure to keep Loki in his sight as much as possible. From dusk to dawn, bow to stern—everywhere she went, he made excuses to follow.

Eventually it became clear to him that either she was the best actor he'd ever seen, or she was telling the truth about her amnesia. No Marine informant was ever as earnest or blunt as she was—or as clueless. Weakness tended to get people killed out on the seas; only the truly strong could afford to show it.

Marco's suspicion gave way to confusion, then curiosity. The woman was a walking riddle, and she knew it.

He started to take notice of her habits and mannerisms, the way her eyes narrowed when she noticed something she didn't understand, how her hand sometimes drifted up to wrap around her neck as though it wanted to choke the life out of her there and then. She wrote down everything she could, and often on the days she wasn't rostered to either sailing shift, Marco would spot her sitting somewhere out of the way, her notebook open in her lap as her pencil traced designs across the pages. She asked questions when she felt brave enough, worded just vaguely enough that they didn't sound too obvious, but clear enough (at least to Marco's roundabout way of thinking) that he knew what she really wanted to know.

And blue eyes were common enough, but Marco had never seen anyone with eyes like Loki's. Wide, yes, and oddly slanted, a deep blue colour too striking to be pretty. It might prove to be a useful clue to her history, he thought idly. Although, here in the New World, it was anyone's guess as to whether she'd survive long enough to put it to use.

He didn't like that thought much.

The silence drifted along between them as the bonfire crackled, and hungover pirates crawled into the dunes to empty their abused stomachs. Loki shifted, her eyes still glazed over, deep in thought.

Abruptly, she broke the silence with the kind of blissful ignorance that had driven her actions for as long as Marco had known her. "Hey, do you know where I could get a map? Of this island, if possible?"

Marco frowned, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with the abrupt change of topic. "What do you want a map for?"

She shrugged, looking almost bashful. "Nothing, really. I just like knowing where I am in regards to everything else."

_Oh. _

"That's understandable," Marco smiled, standing up. When she looked up at him, her eyes wide in surprise, he added, "That's what your notebook is for, right? Just wait here a moment. There was a map I was looking at earlier, that might serve your purposes."

The look she gave him as he walked away was very interesting indeed.

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><p><em>Word Count: 2177<em>

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**

Just as an aside, in case anyone was wondering where I got the chapter titles from… they're song lyrics. Prologue came from a Gorillaz song called _Demon Days_, Chapter One was from _Clint Eastwood_, also by the Gorillaz… Chapters Two, Seven and Eight were from the song this fic is named after, _Something In The Water_ by Brooke Fraser; Chapter Three was from _Remedy_ by Little Boots; Chapter Four comes from one of my absolute favourites, _Ojos Asi_ by Shakira (although obviously a translated version); Five was from _River_ by Annabel Fay; Six came from _Torn_ by Natalie Imbruglia; Nine was from _Punching In A Dream_ by the Naked And Famous; and finally Ten is from _If It's Love_ by Train, and this interlude was named after _Seven Weeks_ by the Gym Class Heroes…


	13. I Will Not Be Frozen

I haven't been very good lately about replying to reviews. So, sorry about that, and thank you, EVERYONE who has reviewed! I'm a bit late this week because I've been distracted by a lot of community projects on dA and more personal projects (i.e drawing character references so that I can buy commissions of them… I got waaaaay too many of those to do…)

Oh yes, and if anyone here is a fan of Tad, you should check out **Eriin84** on deviantArt, who recently drew the most epically creepy picture of him!

In the meantime... Chapter 12 should follow this one in a few hours. Who knows, I might even get Chapter 13 done as well~

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><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_-Chapter Eleven: I Will Not Be Frozen_

True darkness had well and truly arrived by the time all two hundred of us gathered at the mustering point, down in the valley floor several hundred yards below the copse that housed the Lightyear Pirates. If I really concentrated, I could hear the noise of what sounded like one incredible party. I needed no such concentration to pick out the bonfire glow that filtered between the branches and lit up the treetops.

There was a silence in the valley, the silence of close to two hundred people listening in quiet anticipation. I hadn't seen Damini since we left the bonfire on the beach—my companions here were men I had only seen a few times, whose names I hadn't used enough to remember. At times like these, there were no distinctions between us; we were all simply Whitebeard Pirates.

"So here's the plan," Marco said, pitching his voice so that it carried clearly to everyone present. Faint blue flames licked up his arms and spread across his shoulders, bright enough that we could all see him clearly where he stood perched on top of one of the big boulders that littered the valley floor, yet dull enough that they didn't ruin our night vision.

"Thatch and Ace have gone up to the copse, and in about ten minutes, they're going to set the brambles on the uphill side on fire. That'll flush our trespassers out quick enough, I should think. When that happens, it's our job to go beat the hell out of them. You all brought your weapons?"

There was a rough murmur of assent. No one was in the mood for good-natured bantering.

A mirthless smirk tugged at Marco's lips. "Good. Now, you know the drill—if you get someone surrendering, don't kill them. Of course, if they turn around and try to stab you when your guard is down, then kick the shit out of them and make sure they can't surrender again before you kill them. Don't go near the big guy in the Marine jacket, and if you can, watch out for the woman in the dress. We'll have to be careful with them.

"Oh, and finally—try not to get killed. Just because they're rookies is no reason to underestimate them."

"Yeah, we all remember the deal with Ace," someone close to me muttered. It drew a few rough sniggers from my neighbours, and I filed the confusing comment away in my memory for later examination.

"Just so long as you do," Marco shrugged, and the flames around his shoulders abruptly went out. "Now, you groups know what to do—go take your positions."

Wordlessly, we obeyed.

I vaguely remembered what the hill looked like from the air, and as my group climbed the tussocky slope, I ended up in the lead. Narrow goat-tracks crisscrossed these valleys, overgrown with gorse and broom, edged with scraggly hawthorn trees. The one I chose was narrow at first, shoulder-high scrub dragging at loose clothes and prickles digging into exposed skin as we passed. As the track wound around the base of a sheer bluff, it widened. I noticed sleepy goats huddled against the moonlit boulders, raising their heads to watch us pass.

The track came out at a depression in the hillside, forty or fifty yards downhill and to the south of the Lightyears' copse. I paused at the edge of the tussocks, listening to the wind rustling across the hills and the noise of the revelry coming from the safety of the trees.

Kiiroen Island looked tinder-dry; grass, tussock, trees alike were all golden-brown, as if they sweltered under the blowtorch of a summer heat wave. But down in the valley floors grew ferns and mosses, of the type that love rain and shrink away in the heat. Kiiroen Island was a fall island, and at this stage in its year it got rain almost one day in three.

No wonder it was taking Ace so long to get a fire set. We waited there in the dark for three, four minutes, watching intently, seeing nothing.

Then, a new flicker among the trees, an orange glow springing to life.

"There's the cue. Move," someone said, their voice floating across the night air from a few yards downhill on my right. I slowly moved forward, up the hillside, scrub and dry tussock crackling under my bare feet.

The glow from uphill steadily intensified. The noise coming from the Lightyears' hideout changed abruptly, notes of confusion in each individual shout morphing to fear as the thorn-bushes burned. The flames blossomed upwards into the upper branches of the pines, sparking as the trees themselves caught alight.

I looked away at that stage, focusing instead on a nearby gorse bush. The Lightyears would be dazzled by the flames when they finally left the safety of their copse—the night would be completely black to them. But my eyes, and the eyes of every one of my crewmates, had gotten used to the darkness. That would give us a huge advantage in the fight to come.

"Here they come!"

Dozens of pinpricks of light, flickering like fireflies, flooded out of the copse. Torches, lighting the way for the frightened pirates.

I paused by the steady bulk of a fallen rock, and watched the lights split up and flow in two groups around the side of the hills.

Just as Marco had guessed, the pirates avoided going downhill—they must have remembered the series of terraces that cut into the hillside directly beneath their copse. The first group came straight at us, howling vague threats and curses, brandishing swords. I heard gunshots, bullets whizzing past over my head and kicking up clods of earth as they dug into the hill. I ducked behind my rock, and waited.

Out of pure momentum, the Lightyears managed to push my crewmates back a few yards. The torches they held illuminated the battle—swords, cutlasses, knives, and other close-quarter weapons flashing in the firelight. We were outnumbered; I saw the guy who had made the crack about Ace backed up against the cliff, struggling to fend off four of the Lightyear Pirates.

My bare toes nudged up against a rock on the ground. I glanced down—it was a good size, small enough to lift and swing around, large enough to do a good amount of damage.

I stooped to pick it up, then dashed out into the open. An enemy pirate spotted me, turned from his opponent while his mates covered his back, and swiped at me with his cutlass. I dodged it, barely, and ducked in through the middle of another fight, catching another Lightyear a glancing blow on the knee with my rock. He howled and collapsed to the ground, and the guy he had been fighting ran him through.

Two of the Lightyears rushed me this time. I leapt backwards, tripped over a corpse and tumbled a fair way down the hill before a hump of dirt stopped me. My pursuers raced down after me, one drawing a nasty-looking serrated blade, the other a katana.

I had to think fast. Grabbing hold of the corpse's arm and belt, I heaved it at them. With no way of avoiding it, they went tumbling down the hill, blades going everywhere. I'd have winced if I had time.

By now, the blaze at the trees had taken hold, burning from the scrub right to the treetops. It illuminated the entire valley almost as if it was day. Breathing heavily, I scanned the hillside around me, looking for enemies.

"Oi, Loki!"

The shout had come from downhill. I turned, and saw Verna and a couple of the guys emerging from the scrub. One guy was cradling a nasty gash on his arm, and Verna was splattered from waist to forehead with blood, but they were grinning viciously. I guessed they'd won their respective fights.

"You reinforcements?" I called down to them. Verna nodded breathlessly as the cleanest member of the group dragged her up the hill. As he looked up, I recognized Tad's scarred grin.

"I suppose," he called back, pushing Verna up to me. "We only got a few of them. I guess you guys stalled the rest up here."

"Sorta." I offered Verna an arm to lean on, but she shook her head, bracing her hands on her thighs for a moment and spitting blood out of her mouth.

"I'll be fine," she said, flicking her hand at me, "I'm not hurt, just winded a little. Guy got me right in the kidneys."

"And then she got him, right in the nuts," Tad added with a satisfied smirk. "With that sword of hers."

I held back a wince, and started trudging back up the hill, towards the path and the fight still raging. The three First-Divisioners followed, Verna carrying her own weight this time.

But the fight came to us first. More Lightyear Pirates had arrived while I'd had my escapade down the hill. One of them caught sight of me, and charged—more like stumbled, really, he was blind drunk. I sidestepped neatly, raising my rock and smashing it down on his collarbone. He roared in pain, clutching at his shoulder with his good hand. Through the darkness, I saw Tad just behind the man, casually raising his rifle.

The report of the gun echoed through the valley.

There was a small pause where both sides stilled and just looked at each other. Then the Lightyears redoubled their attack. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two of them, a woman and a girl, vanishing into the tall scrub uphill. I dashed after them, intent on bringing them down.

Then something in the air warned me. I dove forward, rolling onto my shoulder and bouncing upright again as a massive claymore split the air where I had been standing.

Sweat rolled down my face, my hair sticking to the dampness on my cheek and forehead. I froze in place, an ache spreading up my arm from my elbow as I locked eyes with a redheaded giant of a man. He wielded the claymore—which had to have been almost two metres long—with ease, corded muscles standing out on his thick arms and bare chest as he experimentally swiped the blade back and forth. He could almost have been testing the weapon's heft, but the grin on his face told me he was simply showing off.

Here was a man who liked inspiring fear. Bold red and black stripes painted on his arms glistened like blood. His grin intensified as he stared straight at me, never blinking. Despite myself, I felt a cold shiver go down my spine. The claymore glinted wickedly in the firelight.

But above all else, I was practical. I blinked freely—I didn't want my eyes getting sore and dry. I shook my hands out and stood my ground, keeping my eyes focused on his, loosely noticing every shift of his weight.

Then—a slight shift forward. Almost without warning, he lunged at me, sword outstretched—but as he did so, I was already moving.

I'd underestimated the reach of his weapon, and though it didn't gut me, the edge of it traced a line of fire across the outside of my forearm as I dove to the right. Stepping in close to him, I turned as he did, and struck out with my rock at his temple. He managed to get his arm up in time to block the first attack—and I struck again and again as fast as I could.

I saw his arm moving out the corner of my eye, and some instinct told me what he was planning. I clenched my belly muscles just as his fist slammed into them, smashing down at his elbow with my rock.

Then the impact hit, and I flew backwards, knocked off my feet, the air slammed out of my lungs. The rock sailed out of my hand and away into the darkness somewhere. I hit the ground and bounced, rolling over and over before an eroded bank painfully halted my progress. Wheezing, I struggling to get up, and just managed to scramble away before the claymore sunk into the ground where my head had lain a split second ago.

I tasted blood in my mouth—I'd bitten my tongue when I landed. Spots floated in front of my vision, and I couldn't take a deep breath no matter how hard I tried. Swaying on my feet, I stared at the man, and it took me a while to actually figure out what I was seeing.

He was trying to pull the claymore out of the ground with only one arm. The arm I'd hit hung limply at his side, glistening with sweat and almost black with blood, hanging at an awkward angle at the elbow. It was broken.

He struggled against the blade for a while; I watched him as I waited for my breathing to settle. The odds had been evened somewhat—now neither of us had a weapon, and while his height and weight gave him an advantage over me, my speed and relative soundness of body gave me an advantage of a different sort. His futile attempts to retrieve his blade gave me time to think.

At last, he gave up, and turned to face me. His face was a frightening, pain-filled mask, streaked with dust and sweat, his eyes glittering in the middle of it. "Don't think you'll get away with this, bitch," he gasped, and stumbled towards me, his good hand clenched. I swayed out of reach, wary of that hand, which could do so much damage if it hit me.

I needed to do some damage of my own—wearing him down would have been a viable tactic if he was hurt worse, but somehow I knew the glint in his eye was one of manic rage, the sort that could drive a man past his limits if it needed to. He wouldn't give up until he had my guts splattered across the dirt.

Still, every movement set that arm of his to swinging, and every motion made his expression taut with pain. An idea wormed itself into my thoughts.

That was about when he charged again, a little faster this time. I saw it coming, and dodged, but this time he followed my movement and dodged with me, his good arm reaching for my throat. I threw myself backwards, away—he lunged for me again, his expression twisting into a victorious sneer. It felt like we took an age to fall, before my back thudded into the dirt and he landed heavily on top of me, his hand scrabbling for my throat.

Fear lent me explosive power. I surged upwards against him as his fingers closed around my neck, twisting around in a way I'd never thought I could do and sinking my teeth into his wrist. He howled, and flinched backwards—and that just gave me time enough to knock him backwards, twist him around so that our positions were reversed: this time it was him on his back in the dirt with his broken arm trapped underneath him. I threw my leg across his chest and leaned my weight onto him as he thrashed and bucked underneath me.

With both hands I reached for his neck and _squeezed_, bearing down on him with all the strength and energy I had left.

It took a surprising amount of time before his struggles grew weaker. I didn't dare let go until he was completely still, all the fight gone from his body. Even then I didn't know if he was dead, or just unconscious. The taste of his blood was everywhere in my mouth—I let his limp wrist fall, blood flowing from the lacerations my teeth had left in his skin.

I got up then, standing on shaky legs and heading further up the hill before I dared stop to lick my wounds.

My stomach ached like an elephant had stepped on it. So did my arms, but maybe that elephant had been slightly smaller. My mouth still tasted like blood and bile; I spat as much of it out as I could, but the rusty, metallic tang still remained. I brushed off the dirt that caked my back and side, suppressing a shiver as for the first time I felt a cool breeze flow across my bare forearms, cold on the streaks of blood that marked my skin. My limbs were shaking, my energy fading with the terror.

After a quick look down into the valley, I forced myself onwards. The fight wasn't done yet.

The trees were still burning merrily away, a pillar of fire reaching high into the night sky. It was so bright it left spots on my vision when I looked away, spots that merely flickered when I tried to blink them away. I could hear it roar and crackle from where I was. Ace must have been doing his job alright though, because it hadn't spread at all. The tussocks directly uphill hadn't caught fire; the gorse and old man's beard downhill didn't catch so much as a stray spark.

The two pirates I'd originally left to chase were long gone. I let out a gusty sigh, and took a deep breath before heading further up the hill, deeper into the mess of gorse that grew wild between two wide fields.

Up here, it was darker. There was the shadow cast by the curve of the hill itself, as well as the boulders and trees that stood up above the level of the tussock every so often. Every sound seemed magnified—I was listening so hard to the telltale snap of bracken under the feet of someone sneaking up on me, that the little noises made by the wind and my own footsteps registered in my mind as a potential threat before I realised that I was jumping at mice and shadows.

Slowly but surely, I realised I was headed away from the fire. It made sense, I guess—there was more opportunity to hide in the deeper shadows away from the light. _More of an opportunity for ambush, too, _a voice in the back of my head reminded me. From that moment, I slowed down, slinking away from the trail and into the scrub forest itself. Maybe I was being overcautious, but I didn't fancy the idea of an ambush.

I didn't see anyone for close to an hour. Voices and battle-noise occasionally drifted past me on the wind, but their owners were nowhere within sight, and after a moment or two the sound would dissipate, shredded by the wind. Directionless, I simply wandered—with three hundred-odd pirates running around the island, sooner or later I _had_ to run into someone.

Then, luck guided me down a narrow ravine cutting into the side of the second valley I'd wandered into. A group of torchlights hovered near the valley floor, and though I couldn't make out the figures from as far away as I was, I was somehow sure they were the enemy.

I carefully made my way through the ravine, loath to knock a loose stone out of position in case it gave my position away. In the near-absolute darkness, I almost had to feel my way through. In this way, I ended up coming out on top of a bluff overlooking the group of pirates. Their torches illuminated them clearly, and after a quick look I moved backwards in a hurry.

There was a man in the center of the gathering, incredibly tall and broad in the shoulder, draped in a ragged Marine officer's coat. I recognized the second of the Lightyears' captains from Neroli's description. This was the man that had torn two of my crewmates apart with a single touch.

Amarna stood at his side, smiling haughtily. Neither she nor he looked at all put out by the burning of their hideout.

I looked around for a hiding spot, and found one at the very edge of the bluff, a hollow between two rocks. Once I'd wormed past a dead tree trunk and into the hollow, I would be perfectly concealed. Shifting until I was comfortable, I settled in to listen to the pirates talk.

"I'd forgotten they'd recruited Firefist." I recognized this high, clear voice as belonging to Amarna. "Quite a flashy boy, it seems. I'd love to get my hands on him… see what he thinks when his fire turns on him."

"If you're sure you'll be able to do that." This voice was low and sonorous, betraying no emotion whatsoever. Amarna laughed in reply.

"Dear brother, don't go underestimating my power. Trust me." She paused, and for a moment all I heard was the torches crackling merrily away. "Anyway, let's concentrate on getting back to the ship. If they've scuttled it, which I'm sure they have, then we'll take the merchant's ship. They don't know this island like we do. This is not the end, you know." He voice turned low and wheedling, but she was cut off by a new speaker.

"And what do we do about everyone else? My brother still hasn't come back yet. For all I know he's lying dead on a field out there."

Amarna's voice dropped a few degrees. "He didn't listen to us, his captains. He deserved whatever had happened. You need discipline above all else when you're dealing with a Yonkou, and if he didn't have it, then he was never cut out for this crew."

"Sister is right." The rumbling voice rang out again. "If he'd trusted her and done as she said, then he would be here with us right now, as you are. We can't ask you to forget your worries, but for now, your priority should be your own life, and the lives of your companions."

"I don't…" The other man trailed off, sighing gustily. "I guess, Cap'n."

_What's with these guys?_ I wondered. What sort of prize could be worth leaving behind their own crew? I thought back to my encounter with Amarna, remembering the disgust in her eyes as she'd looked at Marco and I. That had been real enough, harsh enough. _Something in them really hates us._

"Good man." Even without looking at her, I could tell Amarna was smiling. "Now, tell me, you scouts, have you seen any of their commanders? The Phoenix, Thatch, Dark-Wings?"

"None," someone else replied. "Firefist is the only one, and it seems like he's watching the fire."

"Probably making sure it doesn't spread," Amarna mused. "These Whitebeard Pirates are surprisingly soft, aren't they? Nothing like the fearsome tales we heard back in the West Blue, eh?"

The other pirates laughed derisively. I scowled, fighting back the urge to yell something back at them.

"You should know better than to believe gossip like that," the deepest voice said. "There is no point in destroying one's own property."

Amarna _tsk_ed. "Yes, yes, I know. Still, it's a childhood belief that dies hard. Ilario, brother, we're going to be fighting them quite soon, probably. We'll have to rely on you to deal with the Phoenix—now that we know how well he heals, you're probably the only one of us who has a hope of inflicting any damage at all on him."

The deep-voiced man—Ilario—chuckled. "The more wounds he has healed, the more I can tear him up. Don't worry, sister, I'll be your battle commander again. You just have to keep Firefist at bay."

"So what are we supposed to be doing while you two take on the big guns, eh?" Another female voice asked, sounding incredibly bored with the whole thing. "Who do I get to chop up?"

"You saw the man with the pompadour?" Amarna replied lazily. "He's one of their commanders. No Devil fruit though, so I wouldn't overestimate him! His second is the one with the flashy name—Dark Wings, how arrogant! You should be able to take her down."

Listening intently, I took careful note of everything they said. Their egotism grated on my nerves-dividing up my crewmates like servings of a cake? Fighting back the annoyance, I settled myself further down in my hollow, fully prepared to wait hours if need be, until they left.

Gradually, their voices dimmed, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier. I debated fighting the urge to give them a rest, but in the end my fatigue won out.

I closed my eyes, and slept.

* * *

><p>I napped fitfully, half-waking every so often when a new noise managed to penetrate my slumber. Perhaps three or four hours passed before the Lightyears left, and the next time I woke up, the first thing I heard was Thatch's strident laugh ringing through the valley.<p>

Blinking, I stretched stiff arms and legs as much as the small space of my hollow would allow. It took me a while to recognize the voices coming from the clearing below, but once I did, a sudden burst of energy raced through my veins. I scrambled out past the dead tree onto the bluff.

The night hadn't yet passed—stars still twinkled in a velvety black sky, and the torches the Lightyear Pirates had left still burned merrily away. It was colder than before, and I suppressed a shiver as I made my way to the edge of the bluff, looking down at the group around Thatch.

Marco was there, as were Kestrel, Grim and Damini. Restram, Whetu and Sierra lounged on a pair of large boulders further downhill, and watched as a pair of younger Fourth-Divisioners went through the pockets of a dead pirate near the bottom of a bluff. The signs of a battle were everywhere, in blood spattered across the churned-up ground and abandoned weapons piled at Thatch's feet. However, apart from the corpse the young Fourth-Divisioners were ransacking, there were no dead to be seen.

Kestrel spotted me first, her eyes narrowing in a slight frown. "Yo, Loki, were you gonna say hi, or are you just planning to stay up there for now?"

I couldn't suppress a tired twitch. "I zoned out," I admitted, and started clambering down the face of the bluff. My foot slipped on a loose rock about halfway down, and I slid the rest of the way on my hands and knees. Pain shot through my nerves, and my breath hissed through gritted teeth as I stumbled to my feet and brushed the dirt off my palms.

"That's one way to make an entrance," Thatch commented off-handedly, and laughed. He looked in an incredibly good mood—grinning from ear to ear, his eyes glinting with good humour. "Where've you been, Loki?"

"Sleeping," I said, and found a blood-free patch on the ground, where I half-crouched, half-collapsed to the dirt as my legs seized up something terrible. "Ouch… I needed it, too."

"Where'd you curl up, then? The Lightyears are all over the place." Damini looked worriedly at me "And you're covered in blood."

I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder, up at the bluff where I'd been sleeping. "Up there, between a couple of rocks. The two captains were down here a while ago." I looked around the clearing, at the blood pooling on the dirt. "You guys didn't meet them, by any chance?"

Marco shook his head. "No, only a couple of fighters. One surrendered, the other died. It looks like you ran into some trouble too."

I looked at my hands, at the blood crusted all over them. The stuff was all over my face too, smeared across my mouth and cheeks and down my chest. A streak on my right arm caught my attention: running almost perfectly aligned with my forearm, spidery streaks of blood led away from it, almost as if they'd been driven by wind. How it had gotten there, I didn't know.

Still staring at my arm, I gave a slow nod. "Yeah… I guess you could say that. This looks worse than it is."

"I'm sure," Grim said dryly. "You mentioned you saw the two captains?"

"Yeah." My mind was still half-asleep. I left off staring at the strange blood-streak, and focused on Grim. "They're gonna try and get off the island somehow—they were headed to the port, I think."

Thatch snickered. "Fat lot of use that'll do them, what with their ship scuttled and the merchant gone since we warned him this evening. Did you hear anything else worth repeating?"

I shrugged. "They were sharing out who they wanted to fight. Amarna, the woman, it sounded like she had some sort of trick for dealing with Ace." I blinked, noticing for the first time the fire logia's conspicuous absence. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He's back at the beach, looking after the guys who surrendered. And he's not happy about it." Marco grinned, before schooling his expression into something calmer. "What sort of trick?"

I thought back, fighting through the mists of sleep. "I don't know. Something to do with his fire."

"Fat lot of help that is," Sierra muttered under her breath. Biting my lip, I stayed silent—she was right. Had I heard nothing of any real use?

"Was there anything else?" Marco questioned, looking sidelong at Sierra. With a nearly inaudible grumble, she fell silent.

"I couldn't understand a lot of what they were saying," I groused. "Obviously they already knew what they were talking about, and they weren't kind enough to spell it out clearly for me."

That earnt a chuckle from Thatch. "Okay then, shift focus, and go right back to the start. Think about key words. Maybe that can give us a clue, hey?"

I shrugged, and winced as the muscles in my back twinged violently in protest. Reaching around to massage the sorest areas, I tilted my head back to the stars. Right back to the start… That would be when they were deciding who they were going to fight.

"Well… it seems like they're anticipating a load of one-on-one fights. That was when they mentioned whatever trick it is that their woman captain has for dealing with Ace. They've got a couple of swordsmen, or knife fighters, it sounds like, and they were gonna go after you and Kestrel, Thatch. And their other captain—I guess he was the one that hurt Neroli and Panther—was gonna go after Marco." I frowned, absently focusing on the constellations high in the sky. "He said something like, the more you've healed, the more he can hurt you."

There was a silence, only broken by Marco's quiet laugh. "Well, do you know one thing? I'd love to see him try."

"Hmph." Sierra rose to her feet, and stretched languidly before picking up the broadsword that lay across the rock by her feet. "Some people really need taught a lesson, methinks. Now that we know their game plan, can we get going? I wanna cut something—or someone."

"Hey, be patient, we'll go in a bit." Thatch grinned a mischievous grin. "So, Marco, what do you say? Feel up to messing around with their plan a bit?"

"It'd be the smart thing to do, yeah." Marco rose to his feet and brushed himself off, a slight smile on his lips. "But we'll see what happens. Loki, how many were there in the group?"

I blinked, and thought back. "Twenty-five or so." That was about as accurate as I was going to get in this condition. I blinked again, vigorously rubbing my knuckles over my eyes in an effort to wake up a little more. "Maybe a few more, maybe less."

"And they're heading to the port." Marco gazed off into the horizon, his expression thoughtful. "It'd be a good place to set up an ambush."

"Then we'd better get going," Sierra said, swishing her claymore though the air and turning to lope off down the valley. The others wandered after her, following at a more leisurely pace.

"Take your time, no rush," Marco grinned, then looked back over his shoulder at me. "You coming, Loki? We could do with some reinforcements."

* * *

><p><strong>Word Count<strong>: _5397_


	14. Drown Out My Head And My Heart

I can't wait to get up to the new chapters... I feel lazy with these Kiiroen chapters, because they're closer to what I need them to be so I don't have to do much with them... but they're still short of the 6K words mark, which is what I've been aiming for lately. Once I get to start the post-Kiiroen arc, the word count should rise...

And it's still only early in the evening, I'll probably be able to get another chapter out tonight. (Should be drawing, but really, who cares?)

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Twelve: Drown Out My Head And My Heart_

An hour or so before dawn is when the night is usually at its coldest. On this particular night, however, the drop in temperature was rather more noticeable than usual. Out over the ocean, bad weather was brewing.

I caught a glimpse of the storm system as the sky gradually moved into predawn mode, lightening to a pale blue-grey as the sun neared the horizon. The entire northern horizon was covered in a dark mass of clouds, black clumps at the base rising up into a perfect white thunderhead miles above the ocean's surface. The wind was driving them straight towards us.

Kiiroen was in for a wicked storm.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon past Akaen's looming bulk by the time we made it back to our stretch of beach. Offshore, the Bluefin rode at anchor, hull rising and falling as the waves passed underneath it before piling up and breaking, smashing themselves onto the beach with a thunderous roar.

Our campsite had been swollen by an influx of former Lightyear Pirates, who now sat huddled in a group forty-strong to one side of the bonfire. None of them were cuffed, but they looked as wary and spooked as if they were real prisoners. A few of the senior members of both First and Forth Divisions lounged around the fire, watching the captives and making sure they knew they were being watched.

Ace stood far closer to the fire than would have been comfortable if he were anyone other than himself. The occasional spark leaped out past him, fading before it hit the ground. He wasn't paying any attention to the sullen group, but was the subject of a good few wary stares nonetheless.

"No-one made any trouble?" Thatch grinned as he strode into the clear space between captives and captors. "How'd you like guard duty, Ace?"

"Boring as hell," Ace said, in a tone of voice that, coming from someone about two feet shorter and marginally less well-muscled, would have been called a whine. "Get someone else to do it next time, otherwise I might end up barbecuing something or someone to make it a bit more interesting."

"Oh, poor diddums," Thatch cackled gleefully. "Wanna come after the captains with us? Maybe it'll knock some of the cobwebs from your brain."

Ace spun around to face the fourth-division commander, eyes narrowed and lips stretched wide in a grin. "Do you even have to ask?"

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

Grim shuffled across the sand, flopping down with uncharacteristic gracelessness on one of the logs nearer the fire. "Count me out," she grumbled. "My old bones have had enough excitement for one night. Damini, girl, you tag along with them and make sure Ace doesn't get out of hand."

Damini deflated there and then. "I was looking forward to getting some rest," she whispered to me, lowering her voice until she was sure Grim wouldn't hear. "Will you come with me? I think by the time it's over I'll need someone to drag me back here."

"If we do come back here," I said, glancing at the approaching clouds. The camp was a fair way up the beach, past the boundary line of storm-tossed flotsam that was the high-tide mark, but the beach was very shallow, and those clouds looked wicked.

"So!" Thatch called out, pitching his voice to carry above the rising noise of the waves, the wind, and the gossiping pirates at the back of the crowd. "It looks like we need reinforcements now that we've been abandoned. Marco would like to know who's going to volunteer."

A few steps behind Thatch, Marco scowled.

"Not me, I'm going to sleep!" someone unidentified called out. Thatch shrugged, his grin never faltering.

"Fair enough! In that case, before you get your rest, you are gonna follow Grim's orders to get us packed up out here and back onto the Bluefin. If this all goes as planned, we'll leave on the high tide tomorrow morning—_after_ we've all got a good night's sleep. That sound fair to you?"

The original unidentified voice grumbled unintelligibly. Thatch nodded agreeably in reply. "You know you love me anyway."

In the end, Grim was replaced by several younger fourth-divisioners, most of whom had been on guard duty for most of the night and had thus been able to catch a few naps while no-one was looking. Kestrel quickly took them under her wing, and we headed off, led by Thatch and Ace, the rest of us following like obedient ducklings.

There was a mile's worth of beach before the path took us across the low ridge at the end of the bay and down the other side into Forsetti. As we left the relative shelter of the camp and started across the flat sand, the wind picked up, starting as an intermittent breeze. Then the gusts began to gain in force and frequency, blowing salt spray straight at us. The tussock and flax growing on the dunes at the back of the beach began to thrash about, paddocks on the further hillsides rippling with each gust. I shivered involuntarily as its chill sank into my bare arms and shins, raising goosebumps on the nape of my neck.

Raising my eyes to the horizon, I brushed the loose strands of my hair back behind my ears, and squinted at the stormclouds. They marched steadily closer, less distant by about a third than they had appeared at dawn. I did some quick calculations, and guessed that we had about half an hour before the first clouds reached us, maybe more before the storm itself arrived.

Climbing the ridge took us almost that long. Even at that small altitude, the wind gusted faster and colder than down on the beach. As we descended the other side of the ridge, the cabbage trees that lined the path rustled unmusically, the occasional dead leaf coming loose and being carried away by a swift gust.

Forsetti nestled on a small plain at the southern end of the natural harbour, a collection of ramshackle houses ranging from two-storeyed town houses to a couple of derelict shacks that slumped at the very edge of the town. The path from the ridge led straight into its main street.

The town was eerily quiet. The only sounds to be heard were the screeching of a pair of seagulls fighting over a scrap of bread on someone's roof, almost drowned out by the nearby roaring of the waves. Corrugated iron sheets on someone's roof banged in the wind.

"Alright, guys—spread out, but keep within sight of either me, Kess, or Marco at all times," Thatch ordered. "Apparently we can't be too careful with this lot."

Instead of checking the main street first, we wandered down one of the side streets, investigating recessed doorways and back yards, keeping a wary eye on the rooftops. Forsetti's houses had mainly sloped roofs, but with plenty of attic windows providing places for a sniper to cling to.

I caught a glimmer of bright blue out the corner of my eye, and half-turned as Marco's arms sprouted bluebell flames and morphed into huge wings. A casual flap, and he soared into the air, perching on the gable of the tallest house in the street and scanning the area. The wind almost flattened his tussocky crest of hair against his skull.

"Four, five streets over, there's someone," he called down to Thatch. "Pirates, but neither of the two we want."

Thatch's reply was cut off by the sound of a gunshot. It echoed through the street from somewhere behind me.

I spun, just in time to see the woman who had been our rearguard collapse to the paving stones, her hand clutched to her gut. There was a bloody exit wound on the right side of her back, the white fabric of her top rapidly being stained a deep red.

The shooter stepped around the corner, took aim briefly, and fired again. The junior fourth-divisioner she'd aimed at stumbled and fell backwards, arms pinwheeling wildly. He didn't move after that.

But by that time, Sierra had jumped into the fight. She covered the distance between herself and the slight girl who held the gun in a split second, holding her giant sword as though it weighed little more than a feather. This was no normal sword—double-edged, made of rusted iron and yet sharp as a kitchen knife, the blade was Sierra's treasure. From hilt to tip, it was more than five feet long.

Sierra brought it down in a two-handed chop, sending the gunner scrambling for safety. Another shot rang out, and the gunner dropped before Sierra could take her out. Like a stone from a slingshot, she seamlessly shot forward, past the dead girl and into two new Lightyears, roaring her frustration.

More Lightyears stepped out of the narrow alley the gunner had come from, running past Sierra and towards the rest of us. A tiny girl, blonde, with huge blue eyes, the mirror-image of the gunner, screamed bloody murder as she raced towards me, a short, thin knife in each hand. She was unbelievably fast, and almost before I'd had time to react, she leapt the last couple of metres between us. One knife sank into my thigh, grating against bone; the other she buried to the hilt in my abdomen.

The pain was incredible. I'd seen people stabbed before, but experiencing it was different. I didn't scream-less out of resistance to the pain, and more out of pure shock. I couldn't ever remember having been hurt like this—the bruises and aches from my other fights suddenly vanished from memory, simply inconsequential next to this white-hot agony. My limbs felt loose and weak, my mind even more so. The pain battered at my thoughts.

The knife in my thigh had scraped across the outside of the bone—not a fatal wound by a long shot. The knife in my abdomen was more of a worry.

All these thoughts passed through my consciousness in less than a split second, and once I'd finished processing them all, I blinked, and took the first, most primal course of action I could think of.

I kicked the girl in the gut. Hard.

I'd used the injured leg, and as my opponent stumbled backwards, her grip around the knives lost, the wound in my thigh flashed pain through all my senses. "Ow," I mumbled, blinking away the spots in my vision, and wrapped my hands around the knife in my leg, gently pulling the blade out. Blood began to soak through my shorts, but by seeps and spurts, not in a flood. Good—it hadn't nicked the artery.

I couldn't ignore the knife in my gut for long, but right now, suddenly, I was angry. Furious. And I could use that anger to overpower the pain, at least until I'd done what I needed to.

I stepped forward, and kicked the girl again before she could regain her balance. Right now, I had the advantage of being taller and much heavier than her—as long as I stopped her from getting up and using her speed, there was no way I couldn't beat her. Leaning down, I grabbed her chin, forcing her head back, and cut her throat.

That done, I stood back, yanked the other knife out, and tried not to scream.

Around me, the colours of the world—grey and black at the moment—whirled. I couldn't see the Lightyears fighting with my nakama at all—they were just brightly-coloured flashes and the occasional scream. I focused my mind, sifting through the different parts of the pain for something I could identify. It didn't lessen the feeling any, but suddenly my mind could deal with it. I let out all my breath in a rush, and opened my eyes, staring up at the sky.

Seconds passed in the real world, and suddenly, the pain began to lessen. Caught up within my own focus, I didn't notice at first. Then a rifle shot rang out very close to me, shocking me out of my concentration. I mentally braced myself for the pain—but it felt much less intense.

Frowning, I looked down. The pain dissipated further. I lifted up my sodden top, and my eyes widened in amazement.

The wound itself had been small—the size of the knife didn't lend itself to big, messy cuts. But now I couldn't see it at all. The blood smeared over my stomach had seemingly come from nowhere.

I tried to remember where the knife had gone into my body, and using a clean bit of my shirt, I wiped as much of the blood as I could away. There was no wound.

I realised my mouth was hanging open, and shut it. Then I prodded the rip in my jeans that betrayed the other injury. The flesh underneath gave no more protest than it would have had I been perfectly whole and healthy.

But whole and healthy was what I was. And suddenly, memories came flooding into my mind. Last night, the strange streak of blood on my arm. I inspected my forearm, tracing the line of dried blood that I must have collected when the man I'd fought got me with the tip of his claymore. And I'd been too high on adrenaline to notice.

Dried blood flaked off underneath my fingertips, and I noticed a reddish-purple line on the skin underneath. I traced it, feeling the surface slightly raised along its length. It was a scar, and it looked at least two or three months old.

"Loki, _watch out!"_ A voice screamed in my ear. I instinctively jumped backwards and spun around to face my attacker, feeling highly embarrassed. The middle of a battle was no time to space out.

The man who had tried to slice my head in half recovered from the failed attack admirably well, but embarrassment lent me more speed than I'd ever had before. Completely forgetting about the knife clutched in my fist, I drew my arm back and punched him as hard as I could. He staggered backwards, and then someone ran him through.

That triggered the end of the battle. The Lightyears that were left ran for their lives, leaving the rest of us to recover from the ferocious attack. Sound came back in a rush, the waves much louder than I remembered them being. The air stunk of blood, and worse.

People had died this time around. I counted three of ours among the bodies, all three junior fourth-divisioners. Two women and one man.

"Fuck," Ace croaked. He stood a few steps away from a nook in the wall, standing as if he'd been guarding something. He had, I realised—Damini huddled in there, trying to make herself as small of a target as possible. There was a pair of charred bodies lying at Ace's feet.

Someone tutted, like you would at a naughty child. It took me a while to notice Amarna, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and her blood-red lips curved into a smile.

"That's ten in total," she said, nodding at the corpses. "One by one, you're dying. Why can't you look after your precious crewmates?"

"Shut up!" Ace growled at her, flames igniting over a clenched fist. "Shut up, shut up! You have no idea what you're talking about."

There was guilt in his expression, and Amarna saw it. As we all stepped closer to her, her eyes flickered from Ace, to Damini, her gaze lingering on them before she faced the rest of us.

"Oh, protecting your girl, are we?" Her smile grew wider, and she raised her voice, turning her elegant head to face Marco. "I recognize those flames, Phoenix. Better not come any closer, or they'll be mine. Firefist's too. You wouldn't want to burn your own crewmates, would you?

"Hell no," Ace spat, his eyes angry slits. "There's no way I'd ever lose control over myself like that."

The look in Amarna's eyes as she smiled at Ace was almost lascivious. "Oh, dear boy… you don't have a choice in the matter. No-one can resist the power of the Shinen-Shinen no Mi."

In the brief second interlude, I heard Damini's voice rise high above the roaring of the waves as she reached out and grabbed Ace.

Ace's eyes narrowed, but he never had a chance to speak. Flames were already dancing along his arms.

"Ace, _get back!_"

Damini's arms closed around his shoulders, and she hauled him backwards with as much strength as she possessed. Ace stumbled, and Amarna smiled.

It wasn't a crocodile smile. It was the wide, sincere smile of someone for whom everything is going exactly as planned.

A wave of choking pure emotion swept through my mind, boiling away senses and racing through the nooks and crannies of my identity. It seared away thought and drowned out circumstance. For those few moments, there was no _me_—all there was, was this raging torrent of _everything_. What had been me was just a tiny part of this flood—a teardrop in the ocean. It was worse than being stabbed. It was worse than anything.

It was everything at the expense of anything. I felt terror alongside rage, an instinct to destroy over the top of a curious undercurrent of subtle happiness that wove through everything else. It was similar to the blank space at the back of my memory, and yet completely different. This time, instead of nothing, it was a kaleidoscope of little bits of feeling and experience simply too small and too numerous to tell apart from each other.

I couldn't withstand it at all. Everything I was shattered into dust, swept away in the face of this feeling. There wasn't even time to scream.

Gradually, the sparks behind my eyes spun together, swirling into a great mass of white. I don't know how long I stared into this maelstrom, but it was too long. A second would have been too long.

Then I woke up.

I opened my eyes, and it was like opening my eyes for the first time back in Carolinge. My cheek was pressed against the sandy cobblestones, dust clinging to my face, thick where tears tracked across my cheeks and gummed my lashes shut. One arm was pinned underneath me, the other flung out as though I'd tried to regain my balance even as I fell. I felt various aches and pains, but only vaguely, and they became less and less obvious as the seconds passed.

A scream of rage shot through the atmosphere, torn away by the wind before I could identify whose voice it was. Deliberately letting my limbs stay limp, I scanned the area of street I could see, for someone, anyone I could recognize.

Ace's boots walked into view, pausing somewhere near my head before he squatted down, leaning into my field of vision and frowning at me. "You look like shit, Loki. Are you alive, or just faking it?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but a massive sneeze hijacked my respiratory system. And another one, and another, and another…

Ace waited patiently as I suppressed the sneezing fit, then by effortful increments, sat up. He was grinning, but it was a shaky sort of a grin. Something had unsettled him.

"What the hell happened?" I asked eventually, my voice horribly nasal as I wiped my streaming eyes and nose. A gust of salt wind swept down the street, plastering my hair across my face. I swept it away, scowling.

"You actually fainted," Ace chuckled, a low undertone turning his voice into something decidedly wicked. "I didn't think it was that bad, but…"

Damini slumped down beside him, her expression strained and weary. "Liar. You were in more danger than most of us, Ace. That Devil Fruit is considered one of the few capable of easily overpowering any given Logia." The front of her bronze outer robe was slightly scorched, and her right sleeve had a couple of holes burnt right through the material, exposing the yellow inner robe beneath. She cradled her right arm close to her body, her expression one of studied composure.

Ace gave her an almost imperceptible glance, and a shadow flitted across his expression that was just recognizable as guilt.

"So that was a Devil Fruit?" I shook my head, trying to clear the aftereffects from my mind. Everything felt fuzzy, and far removed. It was the same sort of distance I'd felt those first few days in Carolinge, as though everything going on was miles away from me, and the effects wouldn't reach me. As I looked around the street, seeing heads turned my way in concern and curiosity, something important was hammering on my thoughts, but I couldn't remember what exactly it was.

Damini nodded tiredly. "The Shinen-Shinen no Mi, yes. Paramecia-class, and on paper it doesn't seem like much, but having experienced it I can say that's certainly not the case." She tilted her head to the side, and looked anxiously at me. "None of us fainted though… do you feel alright, Loki? Physically, I mean?"

I made a confused motion something between a headshake and a shrug. "I don't know. It's kinda hard to tell." I gently rotated my shoulders, and a series of sharp cracks rang out. Damini winced.

"Well, anyway… 'shinen' translates roughly to 'passion', as in a certain depth of emotion. All it does is intensify the emotions already in your mind, but to the extent that they render you incapable of conscious thought." She let go of a gusty sigh, and raised her eyes to the clouds swirling in the gap of sky visible between the houses on either side of the street. "I was scared already, thinking about what might happen. It just made me so terrified I thought I was going to die."

Ace snatched his hat from his head and busied himself inspecting the string of read beads around its brim. "Didn't stop you putting yourself in more danger, did it?"

"Ever heard the expression- 'can't see the forest for the trees'?" Damini said archly. "Only this time it was the other way around. I was too busy focusing on her to think that you might have had just as much trouble controlling yourself as I was."

I tuned out Ace's answer, and scanned the street for the rest of our group. The hammering on my thoughts got louder, more insistent—it was really starting to get on my nerves.

Kestrel and Sierra sat on the doorstep of the house directly across the street: Sierra looked as crazed as ever, but Kestrel's face was shadowed. Thatch stood with a couple of the younger guys, frowning heavily as he gave out orders. Tad stood on his own a few steps away, looking a bit unsteady on his feet.

That was when it hit me.

"Hey," I said, and something of the urgency in my mind must have slipped through, because Ace and Damini broke off in mid-argument and turned to look at me. "Where's Marco?"

Another, fainter scream rang out, interrupting Ace in mid-sentence. He paused for a moment, his eyes lifted to the stormy sky, and shrugged. "Probably wherever that is."

Damini filled me in on the rest of the story, her own face bearing a frown of perplexity. "From what I've read in the encyclopedia, it is well-established facet of the Shinen-Shinen no Mi's power that it can make Devil Fruit users lose control over their power. Ace certainly did—" here she absently brushed some of the charred holes in her outer robe— "and Kali did to some extent, as well." Her frown grew deeper, her eyes narrowed in calculation. "I would guess that that was her trick for dealing with Ace. So what I would really like to know is why it didn't work on Marco. He's fighting her right now."

My expression didn't change. "I see."

There were three thoughts vying for supremacy in my mind. The first, and simplest, was: _Which way did they go?_ The shout had come from the other side of the sea wall, I was sure, which meant they were probably down on the beach. The second was, _What are we doing now?_ Did we leave Marco to deal with Amarna on his own, and go after the other captain?

The third, and most insistent thought was less a thought than an unconscious impulse, and it took me a while to figure out what it actually was. My mind kept coming up with excuses to explain it away. Poor stupid mind—It was as if it was embarrassed.

I wanted to find Marco.

"Oi, you three. Ready?" Thatch called over to us, sliding one of his swords out of its sheath. Ace glanced back over his shoulder at the fourth-division commander, and made a thumbs-up gesture accompanied by a wide, mirthless grin.

"Guess we better go," he commented, and bounced to his feet, striding back to the main group. Damini scrambled after him, but I stayed where I was for a moment, looking around for the knives I'd dropped when I'd fainted. They were lying quite close to me, one nearly at the foundation of the nearest house, the other close enough for me to stretch out an arm and grab it by the hilt.

I collected the other one, and hurried after the others. Getting left behind wasn't in my plan.

The street led out into the village common, the cobbles narrowing into a metre-wide path between sections of lawn. There was a rope around the lawn, ostensibly to keep people off the grass. Thatch jumped it and took a shortcut across to the adjacent side of the common. Sierra, who followed the closest behind Thatch, simply cut the rope with a swipe of her claymore.

This side of the common was open to the harbour. The land sloped sharply downwards at the edge of the lawn, giving into shallow terraces that marched straight down to the sea. The wind swept straight off the sea and up the beach to batter at us, raising huge white-crested waves, piling them up to crash on the beach with a sound like thunder. The beach here was made of pebbles rather than sand, and when the waves dragged the top layer back with the retreating water, the clatter it raised was almost deafening. The air stank of salt and seaweed.

Halfway down the beach, two figures did battle.

Amarna no longer wore her long dress—or if she did, she'd torn off the skirt a long time ago. She kicked and lunged with bewildering speed, somehow maintaining her balance on the treacherous gravel. There was a wicked-looking knife in her left hand, and the expression on her beautiful face was twisted into a rictus of rage.

"_How?"_ she shrieked, the words just about drowned out by the crashing of the surf in the background. "_How can you resist it?"_

If Marco replied, he did so in a voice far too quiet to hear. With a series of loose, sweeping attacks, he battered Amarna further away from the town, towards the waves rolling in off the sea. He wasn't using his Devil Fruit power at all, but the distance between us was too great to see if he was being stopped from using it, or if he simply didn't need to.

He fought weaponless, every movement loose and effortless. A flailing arm served as a pivot around which he could balance, and an extra step back boosted the power in a kick. He wasn't so fast as Amarna—but he didn't need to be. Where she concentrated on the fight in stages, attack, transition and defence, Marco was constantly using all three.

I found myself transfixed by the fight. In it, I was recognizing some of my own techniques and ideas. Marco's movements were fluid and changing, adapting to the gravel underfoot and the wind sweeping in off the ocean.

I thought it was beautiful.

Neither combatant had the upper hand. Amarna was too frustrated to fight well, and there was a slow, almost leaden quality to Marco's movements. Amarna's power was affecting him, I realised, at least to some extent. But he hid it well, and she kept backing away from him. Range was the key—if she went any closer to him, she would sacrifice the advantage of her speed, and give Marco the opportunity to use his greater strength.

They were on the foreshore now, the stones clattering under their feet wet with spume and seawater. Amarna suddenly seemed to realise that she had the sea at her back, and desperately feinted right, ducking around Marco and making a break for the island. He spun and chased her, landing a heavy kick on her shoulder and knocking her to the ground.

She screamed, and in some urgent survival instinct, managed to dredge up all her remaining power. Marco took a swaying step back, clutching his head. Almost a hundred metres away, I felt the buzzing in my head return, my heartbeat quickening.

Amarna scrambled to her feet, and lunged at Marco, her knife glinting in the stormy daylight. He sidestepped, but not quickly enough, and the blade dug deep into his shoulder. She laughed fiercely, and stepped back. Marco stumbled forward, closer, and landed a simultaneous kick to her gut.

Amarna stumbled, and fell backwards, laying stunned on the pebbled for a moment before the remains of a wave swirled around her, running past her and petering out further up the beach. Abruptly, I felt the buzz of her power die.

Marco felt it too. Bright cerulean flames flickered around his arms, the wound on his shoulder knitting back together. As Amarna struggled to stand up, he shifted to full phoenix form, and leapt forward. His talons closed around her shoulder, and the impact threw her back, and into the path of another wave. Marco banked sharply, avoiding the water by a feather, but the wave caught Amarna full-on this time. The force of the water buffeted her head over heels, dragging her back into the surf.

The phoenix flapped its wings once, and, driven by the wind, glided back onto shore. Crash-landing on the middle terrace, the blue flames melted back into Marco, who stood unsteadily for a moment before his legs folded underneath him.

I cast my eyes towards the sea. Amarna had long since disappeared, swallowed up by the pounding waves.

_When you find yourself without a weapon, pay close attention to your surroundings_. It made sense—though I'd never imagined that the sea itself could be turned into a weapon.

I found a slow smile creeping across my lips as I clattered across the beach towards Marco. By the time I got there, he'd sat up again, brows pressed together in a pensive frown as he regarded the crashing waves. He briefly glanced my way before the sea claimed his attention once more.

"Are you okay?" The words tumbled from my lips without prompting. He looked okay, but I was quickly learning that with Devil Fruits, you never knew.

"I'm fine." He laced his fingers together and stretched his arms outwards, the movement accompanied by a series of sharp clicks. "I'll be shaky for a while with the leftover energy, but there's no harm done."

"I thought so," Thatch said, arriving at a languid trot. "Can always rely on you to do stuff no-one can predict, eh?"

"Maybe." Marco gave a one-shouldered shrug, and leant back on his palms, digging his fingers into the pebbles. There was a short silence. The first spots of rain began to fall, bursting wetly on the pebbles.

"One down. One to go."

* * *

><p><strong>Word Count: <strong>_5307_


	15. For The Day You're Buried

It's so strange how the word count on my computer gives me a different figure than the word count on FFnet. Some of the earlier chapters I wrote had almost 500 words added to them when I uploaded them to the document manager…

On the bright side, only one chapter left before we start getting into uncharted territory!

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Thirteen: For The Day You're Buried_

Five minutes later saw the beach empty again. Thatch and the others had left to chase Ilario once they had been assured that Marco was fine, leaving me behind to look after the still-shaky phoenix.

"She really did a number on you, didn't she?"

Marco blinked, and gave me a sharp look. He had been staring intently at the crashing waves for the last few minutes, wearing the distracted sort of expression I'd noticed he adopted whenever he was wrestling with a particularly pressing problem. I was almost sorry to break his concentration, but not quite. There was a question of my own I wanted an answer to.

I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his forearm, dully surprised at my own audacity. His wrist was thin and birdlike, bones and tendons standing out underneath his skin like a bundle of slim wires, his pulse beating rapidly in the middle of it all. There was a shake in his muscles, hardly visible, but plainly obvious to my touch. I recognized it as exhaustion.

"Was it that hard to fight back whatever she was making you feel?" I realised I was frowning, and hurriedly tried to school my expression into something more neutral.

Marco stared at me for a moment, then laughed dryly. "Whoever said anything about holding it back?"

The frown returned in full force. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. Can I have my hand back now?" He gave his wrist a meaningful look, and I realised I was still holding onto him. I found I had to concentrate to let my fingers go slack in order for Marco to pull free.

"Then if you didn't block that…" I rapidly searched my mind for an accurate word to describe the morass of feelings the Devil Fruit had forced through my mind, then gave up, "…_that_ from your mind somehow, how did you keep so much control over yourself? You were that close to her you should have been completely out of your mind."

"Oh, there's a trick to it," Marco said airily, watching me out the corner of his eye. As I spoke, a smile had spread slowly across his lips—part amused, part satisfied. It seemed I was seeing that smile a lot lately. "Sooner or later there's a trick for everything. It's just up to you to find them."

"I fainted," I said flatly. "That doesn't give me much of a chance to find the trick, does it?"

"True," Marco acquiesced. "Then I'll give you a hint. It's in the name—'shinen' meaning passion, and so on."

"You really like these riddles, don't you?" I pursed my lips, trying to remember what Damini had said about the Shinen-Shinen no Mi. "You could just tell me, you know."

"I could. But you know, I like people to think for themselves."

_And don't I know that,_ I thought, watching the amused glint in Marco's eyes. He never said anything straight if he could help it. He called it 'exercising thought', and the end result was that by the time I got through any conversation with him, my thoughts had been exercised all right.

I tried a new argument. "Most people have considerably more experience at thinking than I do."

"Actually, for some people, that may be pushing it a bit. You've probably got more experience at really thinking, even considering you've only been yourself for… how long?"

"Just about three months now," I replied automatically. "How is that possible?"

"It's in how you're thinking about what you're thinking." Marco shifted position, crossing his legs and leaning back on his palms. "You're always thinking like that, I'd wager. Trying to get used to being what you are, trying to find that sense of familiarity with your thoughts that is innate for most people. We are what we are, so we don't bother thinking about it. You, on the other hand, don't have the first clue what you are, so you're always second-guessing yourself, trying to figure out why you're doing whatever you're doing. Sometimes I can see it when you hesitate before you do or say things."

I frowned. Sometimes, it seemed like Marco understood me better than I did.

He sighed, resting his weight on one arm as he stretched the other, working the kinks out of his joints. "For your sake, then, I'll explain. 'Shinen' means passion, and 'passion' means strength of emotion. The thing about passion is that it is energetic by nature. And if you can find a way to use that energy, rather than letting it swamp you…" He trailed off, glancing meaningfully at me.

"Then… the overload of emotion becomes a fuel rather than a restraint." I remembered the energy_ well._ If I could have used that, if I'd been at all prepared to use it… there was nothing I couldn't have done.

"Exactly. If you face a force you are unable to overcome by attacking it head-on, work with the force, rather than against it. From a more poetic viewpoint, passion is not necessarily a bad thing." Marco paused, then grinned. "How's that for circular logic, eh?"

"Oh, pretty good, pretty good." I smiled tentatively back at him, abandoning my attempts to understand him, and settled for just watching the wind set his hair and clothes aflutter. "I think I see now. But you still couldn't heal yourself until—" A memory of Amarna struggling against the waves flashed briefly in front of my eyes. "—until the sea had her."

"I couldn't concentrate enough to shift forms," he explained, shrugging loosely. "I've heard of the Shinen-Shinen no Mi before, so I didn't even try. If I lost control over my phoenix form, there was no way I would have been able to keep fighting."

A particularly vicious gust of wind howled up the beach. Suddenly I became aware of how impractical my current choice of clothes was; the wind just went straight through my shirt, and my shorts weren't much better. I made a mental note to find myself some good cold-weather clothes before we came across one of the winter islands Damini so dreaded.

"Well, one guy left," I mumbled, shuffling downwind of Marco in an effort to shield myself from the wind. "How are we gonna deal with him?"

He shrugged, uncharacteristically carelessly. "For now, we'll leave that to Ace."

"Ace?"

"Yes, Ace." He gave me an amused look. "He is good for more than just stealing food, as you should know by now."

"Yes, but…" My feet felt like solid blocks of ice by now. I curled my toes up, trying to lift them off the pebbles. It didn't make much of a difference. "Why Ace?"

"Why do you suppose?"

I recognized the look in Marco's eyes. This was a test. Of what, I didn't know. Then again, you seldom found out what these sorts of tests were until after you passed.

_Come on, think for yourself._

I closed my eyes and thought for a minute or two. Facts first: Both Ace and Ilario were rookies in the New World, from what I'd heard. Ilario was a captain, but then again, Ace was a Whitebeard Pirate. I hadn't seen Ilario fight, but he'd been able to take out Neroli and Panther with very little trouble. On the other hand, I _had_ seen Ace fight, and his sheer explosive power seemed without match.

Speaking of powers… Ilario's Devil Fruit was a Paramecia, Ace's Mera-Mera no Mi was a Logia. Ilario's reopened old wounds, Ace's turned him into fire. Ilario's power was activated through physical contact. Flames were by nature intangible.

My eyes snapped open. "Ace is fire. Ilario may not be able to touch him."

The smile on Marco's lips told me I'd guessed right. "Exactly. However, that hinges on the weather. What is fire's great weakness?"

"Water." I was catching on faster now. "If it rains, that'll put Ace at a disadvantage."

"And that's what I'm afraid of, eh." Marco looked up at the clouds, frowning. "Rain doesn't quite stop Ace from using his powers, but he's definitely less effective in a storm. Half the danger that the Mera-Mera no Mi poses happens when things around Ace catch fire, and in turn, things around those things start to burn, so the fire spreads on its own. In the rain, that doesn't happen. His opponents can get closer to him as a result, and if they're fast enough, they can overpower him even without seastone to dampen his own flames."

"Then there's the slight possibility that we're wrong, and Ilario can simply wave his hand through Ace and open all those old wounds again. Since they're old wounds rather than new ones, would that mean that they'd affect Ace as much as they did when they happened?" I'd seen Ace shrug off wounds that would have killed him if he hadn't been in his Logia state at the time, but I suspected that in those cases it was less like he was healing from the wound and more like he'd simply avoided being hurt in the first place.

"There's really no way of knowing for sure, but I'd guess so." Marco's frown turned thoughtful, and he crossed his arms, staring into the rising waves. "Although, there is another advantage Ace has, that… say, Thatch wouldn't have. Ace is only eighteen—Thatch is forty-four. That's twenty-six years of life experience that Ace doesn't have- twenty-six years' worth of chances to get horribly injured. Even if we take into account the usual childhood injuries, and treble that because it's Ace we're talking about here, after all, it's considerably less than the total past injuries of someone who has been a pirate for just about thirty years, and has quite a talent for getting himself hurt in embarrassing ways."

Down on the beach, a massive wave rolled onto the shore, curling up into a frothy white crest before breaking onto the gravel with a thunderous roar. I watched it come surging up the beach, stopping its forward advance just short of the first terrace and slumping back down the slope, gravel clattering as it was swept away by the retreating water.

"Oi, Loki."

I twitched, suddenly becoming aware of Marco's gaze on me. He briefly made eye contact with me, and then nodded towards the bloody patches on my clothes.

"Those aren't backsplatter, but you haven't been moving like you're injured either. So what happened?"

I opened my mouth to reply, and realised that I had no idea what to say. My shoulders slumped involuntarily, and I tried to remember what had happened. The memories were fuzzy already, blocked out by the raging white torrent Amarna's power had sent flooding through my mind.

"It's a long story, and I'm not really sure what happened either," I said. It was the truth, for a given value of the truth.

Marco stared at me for a long moment; long enough that I started to suspect he'd guessed what had happened anyway. Marco being what he was, it wasn't too much of a stretch of the imagination.

I wasn't sure why I decided to keep the details a secret for now. A problem shared is a problem halved, and all that—but there was some deep-seated thought in my mind that I should be careful with this.

Besides which, we already had a problem to face.

One of the remaining junior fourth-divisioners came skidding out onto the beach, running at full tilt towards us. "We've found the last captain!" he shouted over the noise of the wind and waves. "Commander Thatch says come quick!"

* * *

><p>Bordering Forsetti on the inland side of the town was a forest of cabbage trees. They were strange, alien-looking trees, no taller than five metres, each branch ending in a head of long, thin leaves much like the crown of a palm. Like the rest of Kiiroen's flora, they were predominantly tussock-coloured, and each tree grew several metres away from its neighbours. It was only a forest in the loosest sense of the word.<p>

Ilario and his last few crewmembers had taken refuge in an old hut in the middle of the forest. All but hidden amongst a grove of stubby cabbage trees and gorse bushes, it had taken Thatch almost literally stumbling into it before anyone in our party had figured out it was there.

He'd surprised Ilario and the three Lightyears that were with him, which probably saved his life. It gave him just enough time to get out of the hut and draw his swords before all four of the enemy attacked him at once. The sudden noise attracted Kestrel and Ace, and soon the quiet forest echoed with the sounds of frenzied fighting.

By the time Marco and I got there, one of the Lightyears lay dying on the dirt, hamstrung and leaking blood and intestines from a gash in his belly. Thatch and Kestrel fought back-to-back against the remaining two Lightyears; one a small, compact-looking woman who was howling with vicious laughter, the other a tall man who was as quiet as his companion was loud. Ace and Ilario were nowhere to be seen, but occasionally a booming explosion would rumble through the trees, confirming their presence nearby.

I watched the fight for scarcely a minute before I concluded that the woman was the more dangerous of the two. She attacked without thought for her own safety and was bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds, but her movements were sudden and unpredictable, and her speed was incredible. She had scored several hits on Thatch, whose white jacket and pants were now dotted with small blots of red.

Very soon I saw how she had managed it. She spun in close, only just managing to avoid being beheaded by one of Thatch's swords, and drove her wickedly curved knife into his side before dancing away, as nimble and light on her feet as a dancer.

I half rose to my feet, sure that the Lightyear woman had won the fight at that, but Marco pulled me back behind the bushes, chuckling. And as Thatch straightened, grinning wickedly, I saw that she'd only managed to put yet another scratch on him. It almost seemed as if he had some sort of armour just underneath his skin, deflecting all attacks.

It seemed to puzzle the woman as much as it puzzled me. She fell quiet for a moment, her manic grin fading into a frown, before her mouth opened wide in an animalistic scream as she leapt in to attack again.

By contrast, the carefully deliberated attacks of her companion were much easier to counter. Kestrel was unhurt, her own attacks still crisp and precise. Neither she nor her opponent had any advantage. Both were knife-wielders, although Kestrel's black daggers looked rather more outlandish than the pair of dirks the Lightyear Pirate wielded. They watched each other warily, the man circling slowly while Kestrel kept her eyes on him and her back to Thatch.

"Where's everyone else?" Marco whispered to our guide, his eyes fixed almost obsessively on the fighters as Thatch's opponent made another semi-suicidal rush.

"Back in town," the man said, glancing over his shoulder. "We were doing a sweep of the area, just to make sure we'd caught everyone. I think these are the last three Lightyear Pirates left on the island."

"Let's hope so," I muttered under my breath. "Do we help them?"

Marco chuckled. "Thatch would kill me. Kess is made of sterner stuff, though." He glanced at the fourth-divisioner. "You any good with that pistol?"

"I can shoot a seagull outta the air at a hundred yards." That was good, I gathered from the proud expression the man adopted.

"Then shooting the guy Kess is fighting ought to be easy for you. Leave the woman alone, unless she tries to run." Marco half-turned, looking around the forest as another explosion split the air. A column of flame boiled into the sky further inland, bright against the black storm-clouds. "That looks like Ace's handiwork. He's fighting the Lightyear captain?"

The fourth-divisioner nodded, loading fresh bullets into his flintlock. "Thatch told him to take care of things." He paused, and looked up at us, his brown eyes wide. "I tell you what, I really wouldn't wanna be that Lightyear guy right now. I've never seen Ace look so angry."

Marco chuckled. "Is that so? Perhaps he's ready after all." With that cryptic remark, he turned and ambled into the forest, heading for the smoke that still marked where the column of fire had boiled into the atmosphere.

The fourth-divisioner and I gave each other a confused look.

I ran after Marco before he vanished between the cabbage trees, slowing to a brisk walk as I asked, "What did you mean by that?"

Marco shrugged vaguely. "You'll find out soon enough, eh. Better listen out, Loki; we need to figure out where Ace is."

"How come?"

"So we can stay away from him. Unless you'd like to be burnt, of course," Marco said matter-of-factly. "There's not a whole lot either of us can do to help Ace, and even if we did it'd hurt his pride, but I'd still like to watch. I haven't seen Ace go all-out since he fought Pops."

"Ace fought Whitebeard?" I repeated incredulously, staring at Marco. "When did this happen?"

"Just about sixteen months ago." He smiled at me. "Of course, you weren't there back then. Ace had been captain of his own crew, the Spade Pirates. He started looking for Whitebeard so that he could kill him, and ran into Jimbei, an ally of ours. He fought Jimbei for five days straight, neither of them winning, neither losing. At the end of those five days, when we turned up, he fought Pops as well. Lost, of course, but he put up one hell of a fight, so we took him and his crew, waited for Ace to recover, and asked them to join us." Points of blue flame flickered around his forearms as he pushed past a tall gorse bush on the side of the track. "It took him a while to trust us—we did basically kidnap him, after all—but looking at him now, there's no way you'd guess what a little hellraiser he was back then."

"You have strange ways of adding to your crew," I commented. "Why did Ace want to kill Pops?"

Marco shrugged. "You'd have to ask Ace about that. Recognition, I suppose—it's what most rookie pirates want." He stepped off the path for a moment, and added, "Watch out for that stump there."

Another roaring column of flame shot into the sky, perhaps a hundred yards away from us. I could see a flicker of white and yellow flame peeking between the trees

"Aha," Marco said, and made his way between the clumps of tussock that littered the ground between the trees, towards the fire. I followed him, and began to spot signs of burning in the landscape.

Here and there a cabbage tree had had a bunch of leaves charred. The odd clump of tussock had been singed. The blanket of fallen leaves and dead grass that covered the ground had been burnt and blackened in places, still smoldering and giving off thin wisps of smoke.

Then we came across a patch of the forest that had been completely incinerated. Smoke rose from the stump of a cabbage tree. The ground crackled and crunched like charcoal under our feet, still hot enough that it burned the soles of my feet if I let them touch the ground for too long. Steam rose as the sporadic drizzle hit the ground and evaporated.

And the flames grew closer. This close, we could see Ace amongst the flames—a dark core, his shape flickering with the heat surrounding him. He extended a hand, and the flames lashed out at something dark on the periphery of the inferno. The dark shape dodged expertly; I realised it must be the Lightyear captain, Ilario.

Even from thirty yards away I could feel the heat of the flames. It was a nice change from the cold storm-driven winds that had been lashing the island, but there was no way I was going any closer. Marco had already taken up a position leaning against one of the cabbage trees, his gaze intently fixed on Ace. I did the same, settling my back securely against the rough bark.

Ilario dove out of the way of a well-aimed gout of flame, rolled as he hit the ground, and came up firing, pistols in both hands. Ace's form rippled, and the bullets passed harmlessly through his body. As the flames coalesced back into his body, Ace smiled grimly.

He brought his hands up, crossing them in front of his body, and flames shot outwards, missing Ilario by a hair. Smoothly, the flames came apart into a flock of tiny greenish lights, which swarmed around Ilario for a moment, then rushed at him, exploding on impact. Ace didn't let up the attack for a second, hurling a lance of flames at the stricken man. I heard the agonized howl he gave as it seared past his shoulder, tracing a blackened furrow through skin and muscle. Ilario turned, and stumbled right through the net of flames Ace had created around him, racing madly for the relative safety of the forest. Ace gave chase—and so did Marco and I, though we kept at a respectful distance.

For a man who'd just been getting his ass kicked, Ilario was surprisingly swift. He ran deeper and deeper into the forest, managing to stay just ahead of Ace, who had recalled most of his flames in order to focus on pursuit. Then abruptly he fell—tripped on a root, I guessed. Ace skidded to a halt just behind him—Ilario suddenly rose up, reaching out to Ace with bare, charred hands. The flames swirled around Ace's body as Ace called on his power, but were crushed by an invisible force.

From the distance I was at, I couldn't see what exactly had happened—but Ace screamed once, a short, sharp sound that resonated on my nerves like fingernails down a blackboard. Ace threw himself backwards, collapsing against the trunk of a cabbage tree as flames boiled from his body. They hit Ilario dead center, catching the big man in the middle of his bull chest and lifting him off his feet with the sheer force of the blast. He flew several metres backwards, and would have flown further if a stout old cabbage tree hadn't interrupted his path.

There was a silent, nervous moment where neither of them moved. Then Ace groaned, and pushed himself off the ground, shaking his head.

"Damn, that stung." He looked around for a moment, before his black eyes caught sight of Marco and I. "Well, are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna congratulate me? Come on, give a guy his props!" His grin was coming back, cheeky and satisfied in a job well done.

Marco grinned openly, ambling across the blackened forest towards Ace. "That was pretty well-done, I'll admit. Are you okay, eh?"

Ace looked down at himself, industriously trying to rub a dirt stain off his chest. "I think so. Whatever he did hurt like hell, but I don't think it's left any lasting marks. How is he?"

I hiked across a growth of tussocks to where Ilario lay—slowly, slowly. If he was still alive, I didn't want to be anywhere near him, no matter how badly hurt he looked.

But he wasn't breathing, and his neck was twisted at a strange angle. I slowly circled his body, observing the unnatural pallor of his skin underneath the soot that coated him. Blood leaked sluggishly from his flat nose.

"I think he's dead," I called back to Ace. "If he's alive, he won't be going anywhere in a hurry."

"Good to hear!" The voice that replied belonged not to Ace, but to Thatch. I glanced back in surprise, and saw him emerging from between the trees, closely followed by Kestrel and the fourth-divisioner we'd left behind. "I think this is a resounding victory for us, guys. How long d'ya reckon until the next rookie decides to try his luck?"

"Well, if the guys with the sheep flag are anywhere in the area, a week or two," Ace bantered as he got to his feet with all the resilience of his youth. "Did we get everybody?"

"What does it look like?" Thatch countered, grinning his catlike grin. He looked around, raising his eyebrows as he observed the charred tussocks. "Somehow I'm surprised you only did this much damage."

"It's all back there a way." Marco knelt by the crater that marked the spot where Ace had blasted Ilario into oblivion, gently picking coals from around something on the charred earth. Curiously, he picked it up—and immediately dropped it again, as though it had been made of hot coals. "Seastone," he said disgustedly, shaking his hand as though he'd unwittingly picked up something ghastly. "The man must have been crazy. A Devil Fruit user, willingly carting around seastone?"

It was a bracelet, large and roughly hewn, plain in design. Thatch bent down, reaching for it and casually tossing it in the air, his grin turning devious.

"Interesting. Smart, too. It's like having your own personal power-nullifier. Maybe I'll keep it." He slipped it onto his wrist, smiling in satisfaction as it proved to fit perfectly. "Look, Kess! Spoils of war!"

Kestrel opened her mouth to reply, and was cut off by a sudden flash of lightning. Thunder rumbled over the island mere seconds later, subsonic notes reverberating up my spine. As it died off, the pitter-pat of rain on the charred ground began to grow louder, more frequent.

The storm had finally arrived.

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><p><strong>Word Count: <strong>4386


	16. On These Shadow Feet

Here's another chapter title taken from a Brooke Fraser song. Lyrically speaking, she has a brilliant turn of phrase sometimes. I think out of the first twenty chapters titles, five or so of them come from her songs, and that's not including the fic title itself…

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><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Fourteen: On These Shadow Feet_

It was just my luck that the first real New World storm I lived through happened to strike while I was safe on solid ground. Nevertheless, it was almost enough to make me rethink my career choices. Fighting with hostile rival pirates hadn't made me think twice, yet the sea at her worst is a sight enough to strike terror into even the most hardened heart.

By the time we'd returned to the beach yesterday, everyone we'd left behind had gone out to the Bluefin. The waves had been immense, far too big to risk sending out a dinghy to collect us, and the rain was sheeting down thick enough that we could hardly see the ship. We had no choice but to turn around and head back through the storm to Forsetti.

We spent the next few hours sitting in front of a roaring fire inside the only inn in the town, while the wind howled past outside and rain beat a discordant melody on the roof of the tavern. Thatch and Ace took turns telling stories, and games of poker started up here and there. The innkeeper was a chatty fellow, and bold. He spent a good hour or so talking with Marco, drinking most of his own liquor, and he didn't seem to care whether I listened in or not.

The storm lasted almost the whole day, and by the time the rain and thunder finally lessened, it was evening. A spectacular sunset shone between the remnants of the clouds, pink and orange and gold and purple in such brilliance it would have seemed fake if we hadn't been staring right at it.

In the last light of the long evening, we retraced our steps through the sodden town to the alley where we'd fought some of the Lightyear remnants. The dead Lightyears we took to their crippled ship, still listing at a crazy angle in the harbour, and loaded them on the deck. Ace spent ten minutes or so drying out as much of the ship as he could, then set it on fire. When we looked the next morning, only the charred tip of the mainmast still peeked above water.

Our own dead had spent the night lying in state, wrapped in white bedsheets we'd begged from the owner of the tavern. At dawn, we left the town, and headed back to the beach, where the rest of the crew lined the water's edge and the rails of the Bluefin. The funeral was quick, and not burdened with ceremony, but it was enough.

The day was cool and moist, low grey clouds covering the sky. Puddles still covered every available flat surface, but at least the rain had stopped. The air was still and lethargic on land, only stirred by the occasional breeze drifting out of the channel. Kiiroen was no longer gold, but a dull brown. Akaen looked almost black.

The three landing boats rowed out to the middle of the channel that separated Kiiroen from Akaen, and gently the shrouded corpses were lowered into the sea. Tucked into their shrouds, along with their treasured items, were several large stones. They sank slowly beneath the surface as the waves took them from Thatch's hands.

There was no sobbing or crying among those of us still alive. Keiko, who had been particularly close to Kairos, stood stony-faced, tears brimming in her eyes but never quite spilling over. Once the ceremony was over, she waded into the channel, a bottle of rum in her hand, and emptied half of it into the sea. The rest she considered for a dull moment, then tipped her head back and drank it all.

"I would have liked to have properly shared a last drink with you," she told the wind, eyelashes lowered over her glittering olive eyes, her voice thick with emotion. Then she sank to her knees in the shallows, head bowed and hands pressed together in prayer.

There was a feeling in the air I'd never encountered before. As I watched Keiko grieve, the feeling came unbidden to me that I was intruding on something private. I turned away, and headed back up onto the damp and sullen beach.

I wasn't really grieving, I realised. But the mood of sadness in the air was catching.

Had the people I had killed had people to grieve for them? I wondered. Maybe it would have been, if not nice, then good, to have kept on musing along those lines. But the voice in my head that drove me along told me otherwise. _Given how unattached the Lightyears as a crew had acted towards each other, it's unlikely. They all fought for themselves, did you notice? Neither giving support nor looking for it from their crewmates._ _It must be a lonely life, being that sort of pirate._

I realised that the voice was starting to sound a little like Marco.

I found myself a spot on the last boat taking us back to the ship. Water swirled lazily in the bilges; I splashed it over my feet, trying to wash the last of Kiiroen Island's sand off. The soft splash of oars through the waves sounded rhythmically over the lap of water against the hull. The air smelled like brine and rotting seaweed—the storm had stirred up a lot of things best left unmentioned.

On board the Bluefin, I had planned to go straight down to the galley, but a flicker of brightness inside the navigators' cabin distracted me. Damini sat under the light of an oil lamp, hunched over the desk and staring at the map that laid flat on the desk between her arms. She wasn't really seeing it—her dark eyes were staring at one fixed point on the page, glazing over. Her overrobe today was white, the colour she'd told me Carolingens used for funerals. Underneath it, she wore bright red—against it, her skin seemed even blacker than usual.

She shifted in her chair, straightening her back and primly raising her shoulders. A floorboard creaked as I stepped into the room, and she glanced up at me with big black eyes. "Hey," she said, softly, the frown that creased her brows relaxing somewhat.

Over the two months I had known her, I had noticed that Damini's moods depended heavily on what everyone around her was feeling. If people were mainly happy, then Damini was happy as well. If they were sad, then Damini became sad. She was like a weathervane—if you wanted to know the collective thoughts and mood of any group of people, the way the metaphorical wind was blowing, you looked at Damini.

Right now, she looked small and lost, the expression on her face drained and tired. I felt an inexplicable urge to reassure her, to say that it was all going to be all right.

Instead, I sat down on the narrow cot on the other wide of the room, and said, carefully, "Hey."

It takes a surprising amount of effort to foster a conversation sometimes. First you need a conversation topic—and they're harder to find than most people think. Then you need someone to converse with. I had both—it was the third part, the putting the ideas into words, that was proving to be a challenge.

"Are you—"

I began at the same time as Damini said, "Loki, I don't—"

We broke off, staring at each other. A moment of silence stretched out into several moments. Then, slowly and decisively, Damini broke it.

"Loki, has anyone ever told you that you have a very discomfiting stare sometimes? Your eyes, they're really pretty, but they look like you're looking right through me." She smiled and giggled nervously. "No-one's ever going to lie to you. Not well, at least."

I blinked, not sure how to respond to that. Damini bit her lip, and shook her head, breaking eye contact.

"Um, ignore that, please? I'm babbling." She kept looking into her lap, keeping her eyes downcast, hidden from me. "I just don't know how to deal with this. I've been to a couple of funerals before, and I always completely go to pieces, even when I don't really know the person they're for." She paused, her hands fidgeting in her lap, but the silence lasted for only for a moment. "You look so calm and composed. How do you do it?"

The question took me by surprise. I couldn't answer it, not truly. I opened my mouth, slowly shaking my head.

"I… don't know. I can feel other people being sad, but I just… I don't know."

_It's that I don't know how,_ my internal problem-solver supplied. _I watch, and learn, but unless it's something physical I can't put it into practice because I don't know how. With emotions…people are born with some knowledge of how to feel, understand and deal with them, and that's the thing. _I_- the bit of me that is _me_- was never born! And because of that, Damini, when I look at you I envy you. That's one of the most difficult things, and you do it without even thinking._

_That's an idea,_ a smaller thought said. _Have I tried not thinking about it?_

I dismissed that thought almost immediately. The idea of not thinking about something once I've had the idea… it's impossible.

"If someone chopped both of us up into our component molecules, mixed us together and made two new people out of us, they'd probably be just about normal," Damini mused. "Perhaps we should try that."

She shivered, and her composure seemed to come back together. Standing up, she reached out and briskly pulled me to my feet. "The rain might have washed most of the blood off, but your clothes are in dire need of..." She plucked at the holes ripped through the shoulders of my shirt, frowning curiously. "Well, less a wash than a replacement, if I'm completely honest. Let's go see if any of the baths are free."

Out in the hallway, life aboard the Bluefin seemed to be getting on as usual. There was activity on deck as the current work shift readied the ship to set sail again, and in the kitchen as the cooks prepared lunch. Experienced crews like the Whitebeard Pirates knew how to deal with death.

Damini sent me ahead to check on the availability of the baths while she disappeared to find me a change of clothes. I had decided a while ago that I liked the Bluefin's baths much better than the Moby Dick's. They were bigger, though there were fewer separate cubicles, and they were newer, so they'd had less time to grow collections of mold that could survive anything the cleaners threw at them. As a result, they were very popular amongst us first-divisioners.

When I reached the bathrooms, however, there were several cubicles available. I stepped into one, and knelt by the side of the tub, dipping my hand into the water. It was almost too hot, but it just about made my spine melt with pleasure. There's nothing better on a cold, grey day than a nice hot bath. My Devil Fruit, whatever it was, meant that I couldn't stay in for too long without the crushing weariness of the water putting me to sleep, but I still loved a good bath.

The tub itself was big enough to have accommodated maybe six people at once. The idea was that you bathed as a group, and that way more people got to have a turn to wash in the same amount of time. I was pretty sure Damini and I counted as a group, and besides which, there was no-one else waiting for a bath.

The door opened again, and I turned, expecting to see Damini. Instead, it was Verna and Sierra, and, caught tight in Sierra's grip, a young woman with skin only a few shades lighter than Damini's. Her hair was cropped short, and so caked with dust and muck that I couldn't tell what colour it was.

She squirmed futilely in Sierra's grasp. "I'm fine, honestly, now will you please let me go?" The words were confident, but the quaver in her voice gave her away. There was a fearful, hunted look in her eyes.

Sierra chuckled evilly. "My girl, you're filthy. If you're gonna bunk with us, we'd prefer it if you didn't smell like the business end of a dog with diarrhoea."

"I don't-!" the girl began indignantly. Sierra cut her off with a harsh chuckle.

"Unless you'd prefer to bunk with the guys? They probably won't care—gods know they stink enough themselves, half the time."

The girl froze, suddenly a picture of suppressed fear. "Please, no…" It was barely a whisper. "I'll wash."

Verna and Sierra glanced at each other, frowning minutely. "All right then," Neroli told their captive, her voice studiously kind. Sierra loosened her grip on the girl's wrist.

There was a small silence before Sierra's watchful gaze noticed me. "Ah, Loki!" she grinned, her voice a little less threatening than before. It would have been asking altogether too much of her to completely drop her growl—she'd been doing that to people for years, or so Thatch had told me. "You'd be waiting for Damini, then. Mind a bit of company?"

I shrugged, knowing she'd take it as consent. Sierra worked by the assumption that no-one ever minded what she did. Not many people would tell her otherwise.

"This is Kya," Verna gestured towards the girl, who gave me a worried look out of eyes that were a striking shade of pale green. "She's going to be joining us in the First Division pretty soon."

I looked closely at Kya, trying to see the girl behind the dirt that caked almost every inch of her. She was so thin I could have used her ribs as a xylophone, wearing a skintight tank top that bared her midriff, and a pair of loose grey pants that had clearly seen better days. Her hair might have been white or blonde underneath its coating of muck, and looked as if it had been cut by a spider with a blunt knife. Her face was round and childish, with high cheekbones and thin lips. Her eyelids were heavy and shadowed; her nose had a slight crook to it as if it had been broken once. The top of her head was about level with Sierra's shoulders; her hands and feet that looked too big for her slim wrists and ankles.

There was a familiar device dyed onto her pants. "Ex-Lightyear?" I said. Sierra nodded, her dreadlocks bouncing against her broad shoulders.

"However, she has seen the light. Haha, geddit?"

I ignored the joke, as did Verna. "I hope we get to wash before she gets in. It looks like the water's going to be solid by the time she's clean."

"Then be quick," Sierra replied, grinning wickedly. "Where's Damini? She's taking a while, ain't she?"

I shrugged again. "She went to look for some spare clothes." Plucking absently at the holes in my t-shirt, I wondered how I was going to replace it—did I even need to? It didn't look that bad to me.

My mind threw up a stray comment the drunken innkeeper had made during the storm yesterday. _"It don't matter so much s'long as they actually _look_ like pirates. It's, y'know, the look o' the thing. If we're gonna get raided, our stuff stolen, I druther it was done with _style. _But these Lightyear guys just look like hobos."_

The hallway door creaked open, and Damini shouldered her way through. In her arms was a ball of tightly wadded cloth. "Loki, which one are you in?"

I pushed the door of my cubicle open a bit further. "In here."

"Oh, good." She strode across and into the room, dumping her load on the lone chair in the room and staring at Kya. "I guess this would be the girl Grim mentioned?"

Verna nodded. She'd been gazing at Kya with a mixture of pity and anger for the past few minutes, but now seemed to have come to a conclusion. "Damini, this is Kya. She used to be a Lightyear Pirate, but chose to join us last night."

"I see." Damini smiled in welcome. "How long have you been a pirate, Kya?"

"About two months," the girl replied hesitantly. Her eyes flitted up from the floor, widening slightly as they took in Damini's bright robes.

Damini gave a short laugh. "Me too. It's a big lifestyle change, isn't it?" She pushed her hood back and shook out her hair, quickly closing the cubicle door. "Don't mind me, but I'm going to get in the water now. I really need to warm up!"

It was amazing how quickly she could go from as close to breaking down as I'd ever seen her, back to the confident and capable person she usually was. I wondered if she'd truly gotten over it, or if she was just putting on an act.

Verna and I stripped off and followed Damini into the tub. There was room enough that we each could stretch out without touching each other at all. As I sat down, water lapping around my shoulders, I felt the familiar weariness billow through me. Unable to support myself, I leaned back against the edge of the bath, and closed my eyes.

It felt… nice. Not necessarily good, but nice nonetheless. I felt like I wouldn't have wanted to move even if I could. In cold water, my body felt like a lead weight. In hot, it felt like I was floating in a cloud. The heaviness and lethargy didn't really matter; they were almost pleasant, comfortable.

I opened my eyes again, lazily watching the others wash themselves. Damini's hair floated like a dark cloud through the water around her, frosted with soap bubbles.

"Damini, how do you look after that much hair?" Verna asked, sounding utterly confounded. "More to the point, why did you grow it so long?"

Damini laughed, grinning with her. "In Carolinge there is a joke among the housewives—a girl isn't ready to marry until her hair is long enough that she can sweep the floor just by walking around with her hair loose. It's just tradition. And so long as I look after it, it's easy to keep tidy. I'm lucky it's so straight."

"You're lucky you're a navigator too," Verna muttered. "I used to have long hair. Had to cut it since it kept getting in the way."

"Please say you're not going to keep talking about hair," Sierra interrupted. "I'll die of boredom." Beside her, Kya looked like she wanted to sink into the cracks in the floorboards and melt away.

"Oh, are you feeling left out?" Verna said lightly, her face perfectly straight. "I'm surprised you keep your hair long too—doesn't it get in the way when you're fighting?"

"No, but it's the look of the thing," Sierra said, despite herself. "Anyway! One of you fish Loki out, it looks like she's getting attacked by vicious bubbles."

It was true; there was a flotilla of bubbles floating closer and closer to my nose. Sierra reached over and grabbed hold of my shoulders, hauling me up and out of danger. The feeling rushed back into my legs, strength flowing back into my body.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, and sat on the edge of the bath, reaching up to tug the tie out of my ponytail and trying to comb as many of the knots out of my hair as I could. There was so much gunk in it that even without the tie keeping it up, it only slumped a little from its ponytail shape. In the end I leaned forward and shoved my head under the water again, holding my breath as I teased out the dirt. Damini passed me the soap, smiling.

I scrubbed myself as clean as I could get. It took multiple rinses to get my hair back to its usual colour, and Damini suggested I give it one more for luck. The rest of me was somewhat easier, and by the time I clambered unsteadily out of the bath, I felt considerably lighter. I'd forgotten how good it felt to be clean.

I dried myself quickly, before the cold sank its claws into my bones, and dressed myself in the spare clothes Damini had found for me. There was a black and white striped tank top and a pair of shorts that looked very much like my old pair, as well as the blue Carolingen robe that had been sitting at the bottom of my clothes box for the last few weeks. I looked at it for a moment, then wriggled into it and wrapped the extra material around myself.

Through all this, Kya had been silent, watching us with round, confused eyes. It must have been a shock, going from a crew like the Lightyears, to us. The look in her eyes plainly said, _this is not what I was expecting._ Had I ever looked like that?

I shuffled closer to her, tucking my knees up and hugging them to my chest. "Why did you become a pirate?"

Kya started, and turned to stare at me out of wide green eyes. Her lips parted, but she swallowed whatever she'd been about to say and shook her head, looking down at the floor.

"My dad was a pirate," she mumbled, hunching her shoulders. "Where I come from, we do the jobs our fathers did."

"Did you want to?" I asked. She nodded, slowly.

"I just… It was good, at first. But then they—the captains, that is—they decided to come here. Some of us didn't want to, so we said so. We all know what happens to crews that hunt on a Yonkou's territory, you know. But most of the guys supported the captains… and they made life difficult for us…" Kya's voice trailed off.

"So that's what the story was," Verna commented. "The others that surrendered; were they also against coming here?"

"Most of them." Kya's face hardened, her eyes glaring at the floor. "Some are just cowards. They'll follow whoever's got the most power."

"Right…" Sierra nodded. "We know the type. Reckon you could point them out to us?"

Kya looked lost. "Sure. Why?"

"Well, we don't particularly want crewmates like that. They'll sell us out at the first opportunity. A Yonkou crew's gotta be strong, but also trustworthy."

"Is that why you're all talking like this?" Kya suddenly looked interested. "It's like you're all friends. Not just a few groups in the crew either, but like you all know each other so well. I've never seen a pirate crew hold funerals before…" Her eyes widened, a sudden look of guilt flashing into them. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be," Sierra said brusquely. "The blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the captain—and both of yours are dead."

"We are all friends," Verna explained. "We might not know each other as well as we'd like to in some cases, but we're part of the same crew, which means we support each other when it's needed, and sometimes when it's not. We're all Pops' sons and daughters."

Kya nodded slowly. "I… think I understand. It sounds nice," she added wistfully. "No wonder you fight so hard."

"'Cause we aren't just fightin' for ourselves, we're fightin' for each other as well." Sierra stood up, cracking her knuckles. "Up you get, kiddo. It's your turn in the water."

Kya yelped as she was unceremoniously bundled into the tub, clothes and all. Damini and Verna hurriedly scrambled out of the water and stood dripping on the floor. I tossed them some towels as Sierra grabbed Kya and dunked her head under the water.

"Are you trying to kill me?" the girl squawked as she surfaced, spluttering and coughing. Grinning, Sierra handed her the soap and a washcloth.

"Clothes off now. Those rags aren't fit for a cockroach. I'm not having a prospective Whitebeard Pirate walkin' around in 'em."

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><p>We set sail on the afternoon tide, continuing through the channel and circling around the other side of Akaen Island. The sun had made an appearance, peeking through wisps of cloud to shine down on the twin islands. Akaen's red beech forest glowed, shining deep garnet from peak to shoreline. The wind was blowing steadily nor'west, making the sails flap and the rigging flicker. It was perfect sailing weather.<p>

I found a secluded spot against the raised cabin amidships, and dragged out my notebook, sitting in the sun and writing down all that had happened. I devoted an entire page to a map of Kiiroen and Akaen, noting down the positions of Forsetti, the homesteads, the grove where the Lightyears had made their lair, and the beach where we'd stayed. Next to Kiiroen, I sketched a few of the plants I'd seen there—heads of wheat and gorse prickles, broom flowers and leaves of clover. Sooner or later, maybe it'd be useful to know about them.

Then I turned to the next page, and stared at it for a while, absently chewing the end of my pencil. There were a few things warring for supremacy in the back of my mind: Kya's words about the Lightyear Pirates; the many bits of drunken wisdom the innkeeper had had to say. The four people I knew for sure I'd killed.

A shadow fell across my lap. I looked up, shielding my eyes from the sun, and at the same instant in time Marco knelt down beside me. As always, he kept a respectful distance between us—close enough that I could easily have reached out and touched him, and far enough that I noticed the distance.

"I heard you helped clean up one of our strays earlier," he said, crossing his legs and settling down in the sunlight. "What did you think of her?"

I looked back at my book, and decided I knew which subject to write about. "She seemed more confused than anything else. Frightened too, but of things in the past." I thought a moment, pencil scratching absently across the page, and added as an afterthought, "I didn't know Sierra liked to mother people."

"Frankly, neither did I," Marco admitted. "Perhaps she sees something of herself in that girl."

I looked up at him, my writing paused. "Would she?"

"Honestly, that was just a guess. I don't really know much about her, other than that she taught herself to use that sword of hers without any outside help." He shrugged, and glanced down at my book. "So you're back to making notes, eh?"

"I find it helps." I finished one sentence, and began the next. "Where are we headed to now?"

"Yaffa." Marco's expression creased into a tired smile. "We're going to meet up with Pops and a few of the other divisions there. It's roughly the center of our territory, so it makes for a good staging point."

I added a little arrow pointing northwest to my map of Kiiroen, and labeled it _Yaffa_. "Does it have shops that sell clothes?"

"It has shops that sell everything," Marco chuckled. "That's right, I promised I'd replace that jacket of yours, didn't I? Will you hold me to that promise?"

"Of course," I said dryly. "Was that another test?"

"Sooner or later, everything is a test," he said evasively, and grinned. "It's a nice day, isn't it? Makes me feel like flying."

Tilting my head back, I stared up into the sky. Aside from the odd wisp of cloud scurrying across, the void of the heavens was a deep, clear azure. Light was everywhere, sun blazing down and reflecting off the waves. Kiiroen's climatic zone had put on a stunner of a day.

"What's it like?" I asked, smiling lazily. "Flying, I mean."

Marco considered me for a moment, his blue eyes seeming pale and washed-out against the splendor of the sky behind him. "It's… very fun," he said at last, his expression like he was examining the words as he spoke them. "It takes a surprising amount of skill and concentration to stay in the air, though. Most bird Zoans say they just know how to fly as soon as they try, but I never did. I suppose it's morphic resonance at work—they become the shape, and they become the mind, the… whatever it is that makes something itself." He laughed, sounding somewhat resigned, and shook his head. "But the thing is, phoenixes don't exist. They never have. So for me, there is no morphic resonance to mooch off."

He glanced at me, and frowned. "Loki, are you feeling all right? You look almost shellshocked."

My thoughts, static for the moment, kicked themselves into gear again, exploding all at once into the forefront of my mind. My eyes widened, and I turned to the page at the very end of my book and wrote down Marco had just said in capital letters. "I'm fine," I said hurriedly, concentrating on remembering the words. "I think you just solved a bit of my puzzle for me, that's all."

He frowned momentarily, before his expression switched almost instantly to one of realization. "I see. In fact, I think I understand your puzzle a little better now."

"Good," I said, writing furiously. "I've been stalled at that part for _ages_. I know one thing about me, and that one thing is that I know _nothing_ about being a person. _Babies_ are more skilled at being people than I am. I've got no idea what's going on around me besides the basic stuff that anyone can see. I can see people doing things, like the fact that you always sit the same distance away from me, but I have no idea _why_. And I have no idea why I do some of the stuff that I'm doing. Like why I'm talking so much now. I don't think I've ever said this many words at once." I stared at my book. I'd run out of space to write.

I gently closed the book, and set it and my pencil down on the deck beside me. "It's becoming quite frustrating. _Why?_"

"Ah, now you're talking philosophy." Marco sighed, and folded his arms, his smile fading. "If you get the time, talk to someone older than me about it. Not Grim—she'd bite your head off. Lilian might be your best bet."

"Why older?" I asked. Marco smiled at me.

"I'd have thought you'd get that one straight off. More life experience, you know. And Lilian's the sort of person that always asks 'why'."

"You aren't? It doesn't seem like that to me."

"I'm usually too busy." He shrugged, the sort of expression that says 'but what can you do, eh?' "There's something about you that makes me curious. You seem to be seeing a different side of me than most people."

I felt my heartbeat quicken slightly, and frowned. "How long to Yaffa?" I said, in part to distract myself. There was an idea rising up in my mind, and I wasn't sure it was a good one.

"Three days, depending on the wind. Why?" He looked at me, and I saw intelligence in his blue eyes, like he already knew what I was thinking.

Outwardly, I shrugged. "I'm just wondering."

Three days. _Perfect,_ my inner voice said. _Three days, and we keep no more secrets._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Word Count:<strong> 5293_

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**


	17. Knock Down Your Doors

Geyser Rock is without a doubt completely impossible… but hey, it's OP – anything goes. I think the sheep pirates are going to end up being a running joke, they turn up everybloodywhere. Roberta just, sort of… turned up while I wrote this, but she ended up serving a particular purpose so I think I'll keep her. Let that be a lesson for you all – making OCs is just that easy when your name is Kemmasandi.

And ack, what is this? Loki having an epiphany? I almost regret opening that particular can of worms, but it's just so much fun to write!

I apologise for the year-long cliffhanger from the bottom of my heart – but here goes its resolution, so please don't get too mad at me~ I thank you guys all from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me – and, lilyoftheval5, you don't need to worry about me deciding to rewrite it for another two or three years at least! XD

One other thing I just need to mention – from this point onwards, _Something In The Water_ has broken the 100K words milestone. And probably the 100-review milestone as well, for the second time, lol~ Also, I've made a couple of super-secret ninja changes to the last two chapters, 'cause I just recently noticed a small but glaring plothole in them… You probably won't notice if you look, so don't worry about it.

By the way… the Punk Hazard arc has so far succeeded in turning me into a bit of a Law fangirl, guys. So, here and there, you might see the odd Law-related oneshot popping up in my archive…

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><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Fifteen: Knock Down Your Doors_

A couple of days before Yaffa, I turned the page in my notebook and realised I'd run out of space. I flipped back through the book to check, knowing that I wouldn't find a single page that hadn't been covered with my small messy handwriting and large messy drawings. I did find a place where I'd torn out a page for some reason or another, and stared pensively at the gap, looking past the page that wasn't there, but not really seeing the records that covered the neighboring page.

Sitting on the edge of my bunk, rocked by the gentle swell of the waves, I turned back to the start of what had essentially become my diary. There wasn't a day I hadn't managed to note down some little thing—and some days, of course, I'd written considerably more. Enough to fill a seventy-page book in nine, ten weeks, at any rate.

I remembered writing most of it—especially the first few pages, when the paper had still had that crisp, new smell, and I hadn't really known what, if anything, was deserving of being noted down, so I had just let my pencil drag across the paper and spill out all my thoughts. There were a couple of pages where I'd held the book upside down—don't ask me why—and the writing sprawled right to left, the wrong way up. The rest of the book was equally bloody-mindedly confusing, combining observation with thought and feeling in a way that even I sometimes found hard to make any sense of.

I didn't know what to do with the book, now that it was theoretically no use to me anymore. Should I keep it – where should I keep it? Should I throw it away?

…Somehow, there was a deep part of me that knew I'd grieve for the book as if it had been a living, breathing friend to me. I carefully replaced it in the canvas sack I'd taken to keeping my treasures—really every little thing that belonged to me—in.

The book was as much part of me as I was, not just because it held almost as many of my memories as my own head did. It was one of—I bit back the thought, and rephrased it, more correctly—_the_ first thing I'd owned. As my treasures went, it was the most precious by far.

Reluctantly I uncrossed my legs and hopped off my bunk, padding in bare feet across to the stairs. Maybe a bit of fresh air would help with the sudden fuzz crowding my brain.

Out on deck, sparse flakes of snow drifted down out of a heavy-looking slate-grey cloud. Today's shift of sailors were rugged up warmly, in woollen hats, fur-lined jackets, leather gloves and boots. For now, they didn't have much to do; today's wind was blowing a gentle but steady nor'westerly, pushing us straight towards Yaffa. The horizon, blurred by the light snowfall, was flat all around, aside from the distant lump Damini's maps called Geyser Rock.

I curled my toes up off the freezing deck, wrinkling my nose in discomfort, and not for the first time wished I had a pair of shoes.

We would reach Yaffa tomorrow afternoon at this rate, earlier than the navigators had estimated. The snowy weather system that was currently dumping half-melted flakes of ice down my back was out of its range, invading too far into the tropical climate zone that surrounded Yaffa. Much longer, I guessed, and it would turn to rain.

Gooseflesh prickling on my bare arms, I turned to head back inside, and caught some faraway movement out the corner of my eye. It took me a while to work out what I was seeing – indeed, what I could see against the grey sea and sky. Miles away on the horizon, a monolithic column of water rose into the sky.

There was a clamor slowly growing on-deck and in the rigging as everyone else realised what was going on. The shift crew, every one of them, dropped whatever they were doing at the time in favour of crowding along the deck and the masts with the best views.

"Take a good look at that, kiddos, 'cause it's probably the only time you'll get to see it!" High in the rigging, the bosun gleefully danced out along a spar, throwing an arm out in the direction of the column. "Geyser Rock in full bore!"

If the whispered tales I heard around the deck were true, this was no exaggeration. The geyser's vent was almost a quarter mile wide – I'd checked the map earlier. The water was rising up in a seething, steady mass; I did some quick calculations, hurried and by no means accurate, in my head, and blinked in pure astonishment. The tip of the geyser was reaching heights of over a mile above the ocean's surface.

In what seemed like no time at all, Geyser Rock had pumped out all the water it had to give. The roaring died off, and with it the column of water turned to a spray that drifted in the wind. The Bluefin lurched in a series of heavy swells, and as I blinked, the magic of the moment broke. The sailors went back to their posts, nodding and grinning to each other, saying things like "Pretty incredible, huh?" to no-one in particular.

I remained where I was, gazing back at the inert lump of Geyser Rock through the snow that swirled gently through the air. I had no choice—that was one memory that wasn't going in my notebook. Kind of bittersweet, really, and it took me a while to figure out why.

The reason the book had become so important to me was because it was essentially a solid record of my life so far, and one that would survive even if whatever had taken my earlier memories struck again. It wasn't just events; it showed my thoughts at the time as well, and I'd been astonished at how scrambled they were at the beginning. These days, they appeared much more formally on the page, better-organised and making much more sense at a casual glance. It seemed like proof, I suppose, that I was getting somewhere.

I had no idea where that somewhere was, but that didn't matter so much. My 'puzzle', as it was, was coming together, bit by bit. The notebook was proof of that.

But now, I'd have to move on through life without it.

Shifting uncomfortable, I found I couldn't suppress a sudden shiver. The snow was coming down harder now, falling faster through the air as the cold, damp wind drove it along. The clouds crowding the sky above had grown steadily darker in the time I'd been on deck. It looked like a storm coming.

_You'll catch a cold out here,_ my inner voice spoke up, probably sensibly._ Go back inside, you silly woman. At least it's dry in there._

I obeyed, without delay. I may not know much, but even I could figure out the wisdom in that advice.

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned bright and warm. I woke up early again, and hung over the stern railing as the sun rose, shining a river of light down over the surface of the ocean.<p>

There was a dark lump sitting heavily on the northwest horizon._ Yaffa_, I realised, crossing my arms and resting my chin on the ship's railing. Party Central, according to my nakama.

"_What happens in Yaffa, stays in Yaffa,"_ Ace had assured me last night with a wicked smile pasted across his freckled features. He and Tad had had great fun regaling the rookie girls—myself, Damini and Kya—with tales of their exploits on the island, with and without the fuel of copious amounts of alcohol. I wasn't sure whether any of it was true or not—the one with the elephants _had_ to have been made up—but it had been fun to listen to nevertheless.

Waves lapped softly against the stern, and wings fluttered on the edge of my vision as a tern landed on the railings a couple of metres away. The bird cocked its head, issuing a high-pitched, challenging scream to me and glaring out of its red-ringed eyes.

"You've got no chance," I told it, straightening and rolling my shoulders. My joints cracked noisily. "This is _my_ home turf, not yours."

The bird twittered, gave me another dirty look, and took to the air again. Smiling faintly, I watched it glide away.

Underneath my feet the deck pitched slightly as a wave slapped against the hull. I stepped away from the railing, turning back to the centre of the deck. There weren't many people on-deck at this time of morning: a few of the last night shift sailors up in the rigging, and the odd early riser sitting around watching the world go by.

Lilian Maldive stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame and holding a casual conversation with someone inside. As I watched, he stepped out onto the deck, laughing and gesturing sharply. Marco followed, smiling.

Suddenly I felt nervous, my chest tightening, pulse speeding up. Frowning at the deck, I turned away. I'd told myself I was going to tell Marco about my healing once I'd sorted out my headspace—which was all well and good, except even thinking about it scared me half to death. I didn't even know whether I wanted to say it while there were other people around (what if nobody believed me?) or while I was alone with Marco (what if he didn't believe me? True, he had no reason to, but aaargh—)

It had been hard to think objectively lately. Particularly when the topic of thought involved Marco.

Below decks, down in the galley, I found a free seat at a table full of fourth-divisioners. A pair of young guys were arguing at full volume over whether Red-Haired Shanks or Kaidou was stronger, which stopped me from spiralling further into nervous panic. I quietly devoured a ham bun and washed it down with a mug of strong black tea which made my eyes water something horrible. The young fourth-division apprentice doctor, Aleshanee, smiled at me from across the table, her amber eyes dancing with amusement.

She reminded me of something important I had to do. Standing up, I took my mug back to the galley kitchen, and headed down the hallway to the doctors' cabin.

The room was orderly and bright, and smelled of pine sap. The windows at the rear of the room were cranked open a bit, letting a fresh salt breeze through that stirred the papers on the desk that sat on the port side of the door. The port wall was lined with bookshelves and drawers, all bolted to the ship's timbers to prevent them from falling over during a storm.

Two out of the three beds arranged in a neat row on the starboard side of the room were occupied. Panther was still asleep, shrouded in a mass of white blankets and bandages, but Neroli peered at curiously at me through half-lidded hazel eyes.

"You're awake?" I asked, lowering my voice so that I wouldn't disturb Panther. "You've been asleep every time I've checked so far."

"How many times did you check?" Neroli laughed breathlessly, patting the bedsheets with bandaged fingers. "This is the third time I've woken up. Honestly though, the first two times I fell asleep again after like five minutes, so I suppose I can't blame you."

"Twice." I held up two fingers in a v-shape, and Neroli's lips twitched in a slight grin. "I hope you're feeling better now."

"I am, actually." Neroli's gaze flitted around the room, her eyes crinkling at the open window and the bookshelves on the walls. "I have to say, maybe it's just that this is a newer ship, but Restram keeps his cabin a lot neater than Lilian keeps his. Not cleaner, just… there's no random notes stuck to the walls, there's no jars of creepy floating things in oil hanging around, there aren't any pot plants… Neater, yeah." She glanced back at me, and her eyes narrowed in calculation. "Could I ask you a huge favour?"

I nodded. "What is it?"

"Well, first off… help me sit up, will you?" Neroli grimaced, glaring at the ceiling. "I can't do it on my own. My back hurts like a bitch and my scabs crack open whenever I try."

Neroli pushed some of her sheets back, her hands going to the mattress on either side of her. I put my hand on her shoulders and gently hauled her up, trying to keep her back from bending at all.

"Thanks, Loki," she sighed, dragging the tie out of her hair and scraping her fingers through her wiry curls. "Don't suppose you've got a hairbrush with you?"

I spread my hands wide, shaking my head. "I don't exactly carry them around all the time."

She grinned wickedly up at me. "You don't even own one, if I remember correctly. You oughta get one sometime, pretty up that hair of yours a bit."

I blinked in surprise. "What would be the point? It'd just get salt and crap in it anyway."

"What sort of a woman are you?" Neroli shook her head, tsking disappointedly. "Isn't it good to feel pretty sometimes? Not even always, just on the odd special occasion. Don't you wanna make yourself pretty for a certain someone?"

"Who?" I asked bluntly, and almost immediately a face floated in front of my vision. Heavy-lidded, dusky blue eyes stared into mine, windswept blonde hair fluttered and ruddy, fine-boned hands gently touched my own. I blinked—once, twice, three times—and the phantom was gone, but abruptly I felt like I'd run a mile in a minute.

Neroli raised an eyebrow at my red face and stony expression. "Oh, nothing," she said airily, waving a flippant hand. "I could be wrong. But the thing about the hairbrush still stands!"

"Um," I said, staring fixedly at the wall above her head, "thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

_You idiot,_ my inner voice laughed as I fled the room. _What's the surprise?_ _It's been staring you in the face all this time._

* * *

><p>We sailed into the main port at Yaffa at around two that afternoon. It was a bright, hot day; sun streaming down out of an azure sky, fluffy white clouds drifting past in front of it, seagulls wheeling and screaming in the air above the town. It wasn't as hot as Carolinge had been, but compared to the dull chill leftover from Kiiroen that still resonated in my bones, the heat in the air was fantastic.<p>

The port was smaller than Lokashiri had been, but packed with ships and people. Instead of trading galleons and Marine warships, most of the craft here were small cutters, schooners and fishing vessels, with the odd corvette or dinghy scattered amongst the pack. The port itself was a small bay, with the smaller craft packet into shallow waters near a set of jetties at the foot of the township, and a breakwater stretching off into deeper water at the western end of the bay. There were two big ships already sitting at anchor on the leeward side: one a neat brigantine with washed-out blue sails, and the other a squat galleon sitting heavily in the water, decorated with a familiar mountain-goat device…

It was this breakwater that the _Bluefin Princess_ tied up at. There was a slight lull in activity as the guys at work in the rigging furled the sails and finished their shift. After a couple of minutes, Thatch emerged from the galley and Marco ambled out of the navigators' cabin. Everyone gathered around them, quiet with anticipation.

"It looks like we're early to the date, guys," Thatch began with a wicked flourish, gesturing to the open bay. "Since Pops and the other guys ain't here yet, anyone who doesn't have shit to do may as well get started on your free time. Just don't traumatise the locals too much, hey? Or the sheep guys, since I see they're here as well."

"No promises," someone called out, prompting a flood of chuckles from the guys. "What if they start it?"

Marco shook his head, grinning easily. "Then I damn well expect you to win it."

That earned a few more laughs. As we began to disembark, by way of ladders, ropes, and bold jumps into thin air, I spotted Marco through the crowd. He caught my eyes and smiled, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the town.

His message was clear. I took a deep breath, and jumped off the railings, landing with a thud that jarred my entire skeleton on the concrete wharf below.

I'd been avoiding Marco all morning. Possibly not the smartest idea in the world, but at the very least it gave me time to gather my wits. Suddenly what I had to do seemed all the more terrifying, now that I knew what exactly I was terrified_ of._

Straightening, I looked back at the Bluefin again. Almost unconsciously, my lips curved into a wry smile.

On the one hand—it was Marco. First division commander, as good as my unofficial captain… who for some reason seemed to have taken a special interest in me over the past few weeks. He tended to spend more time with the lunch club than with the rest of the crew, true, but Damini hadn't ever mentioned talking with him.

_No, Ace is the one she talks about_, my inner voice interrupted. It sounded faintly amused. _Flashy freckled fire boy commands what's left of her attention after Grim is done with it._

_What am I really afraid of?_ I wondered, ambling along the breakwater towards Yaffa. Gentle waves sloshed against the boulders that made up the base of the structure, seaweed and white spume swirling in the eddies left when the water retreated between waves. The air smelled of salt and tar, overwhelmingly so.

I wrinkled my nose and sped up, sniffing.

Yaffa township was a lot bigger than it seemed from the outside. Wooden buildings stacked haphazardly on top of one another, opening to wide shopfronts on two or three levels in places, rickety stairways running up to the higher-level shops, and small stalls and baskets of produce randomly placed in the middle of the streets. There was an aura of organized chaos about the whole thing.

Not since Carolinge had I seen so many people together. The streets were packed, stalls and little sheds crowding every available free space of wall between the entrances to the permanent shops. Colour, too, was everywhere: red and bright yellow and gold, forest green, sky blue and deep purple, black mixed with bright white and rich chocolate brown. The dusty flagstones underfoot were pitted and worn by generations' worth of feet, the occasional dimple in a solid stone wall where people had for hundreds of years caught their breath out of the press of the crowd. The air carried the telltale odours of distant leather vats alongside spices and breads and cooking meats, swirled together by the lazy breeze and tugged straight past my nose.

No wonder I'd sneezed; I was standing barely a few feet away from a spice vendor.

I edged my way through the crowd, upwind past the spice vendor's stall. The crowd as a whole was less neatly dressed than people in Carolinge had been—pirates, fishermen and traders, I guessed. Mostly everyone wore loose shirts or open jackets, with a few locals dressed in kaftans dotted here and there through the crowd. The open bars and watering holes seethed with sloshed pirates, sabres and cutlasses at their hips, rifles slung over their backs. Fights broke out every so often; the traders and locals rushed for the escape routes, while the pirates in the crowd made a beeline for the heart of the scuffle.

Further up the main road, I found a shop selling women's clothes. Remembering Marco's promise, I poked my head in past the screen door and waited for my eyes to adjust to the relative gloom.

Inside, racks of clothing filled the store almost from wall to wall. A few patrons browsed through the goods already—some whom I even recognised. Near the back of the shop, Sierra Lee's dreadlocked head rose above the racks. Kya's blonde head bobbed along behind her, barely visible over the top of the heaped clothes.

Smiling to myself, I stepped inside. Immediately I was confronted with a choice – where to go, what to look at first? On my left was a set of loose embroidered jackets in a variety of sea greens and blues, and on my right, a rack of printed t-shirts. I checked the price tags, and the shirts were more expensive (something about a criminal brand), so I went for the jackets instead.

They reminded me of the Carolingen wraps, except in a heavier, rougher material. The embroidery was different too; less delicate, done in thicker, duller thread. I picked out one in shades of slate blue and sea green and tried it on. It kept gapping open over my chest, but it was easier to move in than I'd expected. The sleeves were wide and about three-quarter length, which left my hands free, and it tied at the waist with a thin sash, which kept the ends from flopping about as I moved.

There was a sudden rustle just behind my shoulder. I half-turned, and saw Marco standing there amongst the racks.

"Found something you like?" he asked, nodding at the wrap. "The colours look good on you."

"Yeah," I blurted, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thanks." I looked him squarely in the eyes, trying to decipher his calm smile. Was that what he really thought, or was he just being polite?

He met my gaze silently for a moment, his smile widening. "Shall we buy this one then?" he asked eventually, gesturing towards the back of the store, where a bored-looking matron was sitting behind a small table, watching the customers with beady eyes. The movement tugged his own jacket further open, giving me a clearer view of the brand on his chest.

Unlike a lot of the other Whitebeard Pirates, he had neither scars nor hair on his chest, just that bold, red tattoo. Underneath it, his skin was smooth and tanned, a thin coat covering the hard swell of his muscles. That tattoo caught my attention and held it, rising and falling slightly with each breath he took.

I caught myself staring almost instantly, and forced my gaze off to the side—anywhere but him. _Crap,_ I thought succinctly as I wriggled out of the wrap, following him up to the shopkeeper. _Crap, crap and more crap. I'm in trouble here._

It would have been far too much to hope for that he wouldn't have noticed my wandering eyes. Marco was the most observant person I'd met yet, better at noticing things than I was. I could feel a blush spreading up my neck and onto my cheeks—just had to hope that in the gloom of the store it wasn't noticeable underneath my tan.

The matron looked up as we approached, raising an eyebrow at Marco, and then the other one as she noticed me trailing along behind him. She snorted, taking a gently smoking pipe out of her mouth and grinning at us.

"Didn't expect to see you of all people here, Phoenix," she commented, holding her hand out for the jacket. "Not shopping for yourself, I'm guessing."

Marco gave it to her, chuckling amusedly. "Not a chance, Roberta. I'm sure you're very disappointed."

"Hmph." The woman smiled, cutting off the price tag and gently pulling the thread which had held it out of the cloth. "Then what's the occasion, and does it have anything to do with this delightful young lass I see looking quite nervous there behind you?"

I blinked, and tried to school my features into a more neutral expression. The woman snorted at my efforts.

"I owe her a new jacket, having ruined the last one," Marco explained, tucking his thumbs into his sash and grinning broadly. "Long story," he added, when Roberta cocked an eyebrow at him for clarification. "How's business going?"

Roberta shrugged, tucking a stray hank of her wavy black hair behind her ear. "Same old, same old. Some bitch tried to rob me blind a couple of weeks ago, threatened to kill my Yulian, so I put a bullet through her fat head. Pre-emptive action, like you always used to say." She chuckled good-naturedly, and offered him the jacket. "Other than that, it's been pretty uneventful. Peeps know who I am."

"Just as well," Marco said darkly, though the smile never left his face. He dug in his pocket, passing the woman a couple of shiny gold coins, and gave me a quick grin. "Loki, it's your jacket, you may as well hang onto it, eh."

"Oh," I said, hurriedly taking it and putting it back on. "Thank you," I added, both to him and to the shopkeeper.

Roberta cracked an amused grin at me. "You're welcome. I'm guessing you're a new crewmember?"

I nodded silently, acutely aware of Marco watching me but trying so hard to resist the urge to look back at him. "I'm Loki. I just joined a couple of months ago."

"Well, you look like you're doing alright for yourself so far!" She let out a wicked cackle, brilliant emerald eyes sparkling with inner mirth. "I'm Roberta, formerly of the sixteenth division. I retired a couple of years ago to achieve my dreams of having a family and owning a fashion shop. It's going well so far, but I still miss the sea sometimes." She cocked her head to the side, her smile turning wistful. "You two have fun out there on the sea for me, okay?"

"Will do," Marco affirmed, taking a step backwards and half turning towards the exit. "Take care, Roberta. We'll see you around."

A young child's wails filled the air as we headed back towards the street outside. Roberta, interrupted mid-farewell, tossed a distracted look over her shoulder and rose to her feet, disappearing through a shrouded door in the back wall. "Yulian!" I heard her call, and the baby's cries dissipated somewhat.

"That'd be the main reason she retired," Marco commented, glancing sidelong at me as he ducked out the screen door and held it open for me. "Despite what she would have you believe, the clothes shop didn't come along until several months afterwards."

It didn't click in my mind for a while, and when it did I felt quite stupid. "Oh. She had a baby?"

He nodded slowly, pausing in an empty spot in the street and shading his eyes with a hand, squinting at the uphill end of the street. "Didn't tell us until she was almost five months gone, silly woman that she is. It's part of the reason you don't get many pirate women, after a certain age. The careless ones get pregnant and have to look after their kids, while the careful ones often decide they want kids once they've had their fill of adventuring. And raising kids on board a ship isn't the best idea in the world, not by a long shot."

"Makes sense," I mused, thinking of Kestrel, Antiope and Grim. Grim was older than dirt, and Antiope was steadily going that way, while if the lines around Kestrel's eyes were anything to go by, she wasn't far away from it herself.

Not for the first time, I looked down at myself, wondering where I sat on the age continuum. Young, I knew, but how young?

"Are you hungry at all?" Marco suddenly asked, his eyes fixed on a faraway spot. "My stomach just reminded me I haven't had lunch yet, eh."

I blinked, squinting back at him. The light out in the street seemed much stronger after the relative darkness inside the shop. "I could go for a bit to eat, yeah."

"Great." He grinned at me, suddenly seeming younger than he'd been before. "Souvlaki sound good? You can tell me about those mysterious bloodstains while we eat."

_So he didn't forget,_ my inner voice chuckled as I followed him up the street. _Better tell him everything, Loki._

* * *

><p><em>Word Count:<em> 5129

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**

_Chapter Title Origin:_ Don't Stop [Gin Wigmore]

I decided to end the chapter there, because a) it seemed like a good point for a break, and b) it marks the point where the plot topic changes from semi-romantic fluff to srs bizness. Please don't murder me for the cliffhanger…

I was thinking I might start an FAQ corner at the end of each chapter, just to answer those questions that I occasionally get asked in reviews. Would you guys be at all interested if I did?


	18. At This Point I've Gotta Choose

Dave-o, Mattress, I hope you like the Stooges' cameo. Eriin84, have fun drawing shirtless Tad. It's my birthday on August 8th [turning 19 YAAAAAAY!] so I'mma see if I can get another chapter done and posted on that exact day. I'm kind of looking forward to it, because you guys have been predicting what's gonna happen in it for like a year – the fun thing, not the sad one.

I managed to find and watch the Strong World movie for the first time recently. Hot damn, is it awesome or what? My One Piece obsession is burning brighter now than it has for more than a year, thanks to Strong World and Kinemon on Punk Hazard… [OMG I love Kinemon, he's so awesome! I can't wait to see what sort of role he has in the story!]

Also, that FAQ/Q&A thing I suggested in the last chapter got a few yay votes, so let's do it! If there's anything you want to know about the story/characters/settings/whatever, review and ask! I'll answer everything (so long as it isn't a major spoiler, ofcourse) at the bottom of the chapters.

* * *

><p><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_-Chapter Sixteen: At This Point I've Gotta Choose_

I hurried up the street after Marco, adjusting my new jacket as I went.

A fresh sea breeze swirled past me, carrying the myriad odours of the marketplace – spices, meats, dust and leather, brine from the port and a strange undertone of dry grass. The cobblestones that lined the street under my feet felt warm; they glittered with grit and broken glass in places, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for a port town. I barely felt it through the calluses on my soles.

Stepping carefully over the glistening remnants of an old rum bottle, I wrinkled my nose and squinted up the street. "What is souvlaki? Is it good to eat?"

Marco gave me a sidelong look and an easy grin. Something in my heart did a nervous flip.

"It's a Yaffan specialty," he explained, tucking his thumbs into his sash as he ambled onwards through the crowded street. "They use all sorts of meat for it – pile it on skewers or in these funny little flat buns they make, and add sauces, vegetables, spices that'll clear your head like nothing else. There's a shop up ahead that does a nice fish and banana version. Spicy as anything, but very good."

"Hmm," I said, tilting my head to the side as I tried to tie the sash on my jacket. "I just had a new thought."

"Yeah?" He looked vaguely amused, as if he knew what I was going to say. "Fire away."

"I don't have any money to pay for it." I pulled the knot on my sash tight, pursing my lips. Being a pirate hadn't been very profitable so far – which almost made me chuckle. That was why people became pirates in the first place, wasn't it? There was the booze, the babes, as Thatch would say – and then there was the booty.

Mind you, that hadn't been the reason I now called myself a pirate. Perhaps it made sense in that context, then.

Marco laughed out loud, raising his eyebrows at me in a silent question. "Ah, man, Loki – who suggested this? I'll pay; you just think of it as my treat, eh."

I huffed, frowning. "Not that I'm complaining – but why? You're being…" I trailed off, unsure how to end the sentence to best effect, "really generous with these treats today. And it doesn't make any sense to me." It made me feel special, in a way that my poor frazzled heart really liked, but my brain was steadily telling me to be careful with it. And though I'd have loved to follow my heart's advice, something in my gut told me I'd be better off with my brain.

Marco stopped short in the street, planting his feet in a solid stance I recognized as defensive, ready for a fight. The crowd split smoothly and flowed around us, a living wall keeping me fenced in with him.

"It should tell you how much I want to know what it is you're keeping from me," he said, his smile gone completely. "I don't like it when my nakama keep things secret from me. It's one of the ways a good crew goes bad."

I opened my mouth to reply, but what came out instead was a reluctant sigh. I shook my head, looking down at the ground and fiddling with my sleeves.

"I… truth be told I wasn't sure who I should – who I _could_ tell," I admitted at last, peeking up at him through my eyelashes. He didn't seem annoyed – just solemn, and that gave me the bravery to continue. "It's complicated, see? I thought I'd dreamed the whole thing, back when that woman on Kiiroen knocked me cold with her Devil Fruit. But my old shirt and pants still have bloodstains on them." I shrugged, watching his reaction closely. "So I decided to test it."

His eyes narrowed – calculating, suspicious. "Have you told anyone else?"

"No." I shook my head, meeting his gaze directly for the first time. "No-one but you."

The expression on his long face changed: for a second he looked strangely gratified.

Then the instant passed. He sighed, his eyes losing their hard, urgent edge, and ran a hand through his tousled tuft of hair. "I think we need a change of plans. A souvlaki bar isn't exactly private, eh."

Suddenly I had the mad urge to bridge the gap between us and press my lips to his. "Thank you," I said, suddenly grateful for nothing in particular other than that out of all Whitebeard's Pirates, it was him out on this crowded road with me.

"Don't worry about it." He looked back along the route we'd come, frowning faintly. "It's probably best if we go back to the ship."

"Souvlaki can wait," I agreed. He gave me an odd look for a moment, before grinning widely and clapping a hand on my shoulder.

"Alright, let's go."

On the way back we encountered a barfight which had spilled out onto the road. I saw plenty of knives and swords at play – and being used to vicious effect – but there were no gunshots, and as best I could tell, no Devil Fruits being used either.

"It's because this is a pirate island under Pops' protection," Marco explained, chuckling. "It's not good for business if the locals get hurt, which they often do in fights, even if we protect them from direct attacks. Guns and Fruit powers are worse for collateral damage than melee weapons, so people make it known that they're a coward's option. If there's one thing your average pirate can't stand, it's being thought of as a lesser tough guy than he thinks he actually is. So generally people play fair—and for those that don't, we senior crews… _encourage_ them to recant their ways." He chuckled, and coming from someone with a less amiable demeanour it might even have sounded nasty. "It keeps some sort of order in the town, and prevents the Marines from taking too much of an interest in the place, eh."

I watched as a new wave of pirates lunged out through the battered tavern door, led by a tall blue-skinned fellow with a row of spines coming out of his back. I'd seen a couple of fishmen among the Whitebeard Pirates, so he didn't come as too much of a surprise. What caught my attention more was the gigantic sword he carried.

The fishman paused in the middle of the melee, took aim at another, human pirate, and tossed the massive weapon with consummate effortlessness. "The balance on this thing _sucks!_" he hollered as a parting shot before diving back inside the seething bar, grinning an insane grin.

"No point in banning fights entirely," Marco added dryly. "It'd kill the fun of the place stone dead. Now let's go before the other one comes out."

He turned and headed off down the road again before I could ask who 'the other one' was.

There was a flurry of activity on the jetty running out to the Bluefin when we got back to the port. Clearly visible out on the sparkling blue ocean was the silhouette of another massive ship. Not the Moby Dick, I realized, peering out at it. There weren't enough sails.

"The _Moreno Encanto_," Marco said as we came to the end of the jetty. "Don't ask why Vista named it that," he added, rolling his eyes. His arms shifted to wings, blue flames tipped with faint yellow; he leapt up into the air, and one lazy flap propelled him all the way to the deck of the Bluefin.

I followed in a slower, more mundane way – by climbing the rope the watchmen had left dangling over the side of the ship.

Marco was waiting for me, his thumbs tucked into his sash, grinning loosely as I finally clambered over the railings. I'd had plenty of practice at climbing ropes on rigging duty, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

One of the watchmen glanced curiously at us, but otherwise no-one took much notice as Marco led me below decks. I knew where we were going – his cabin, since he got one to himself as commander's privilege and therefore didn't have to worry about being overheard in there. I followed him in, and he closed the door behind me with a gentle click.

There wasn't much available surface space. His desk (a small, wooden affair) was covered with papers and records; the couple of bookshelves nailed to his walls were full of books, more papers, and assorted little keepsakes. There was a jagged rock with a vein of sparkly mineral through it sitting on the floor near his bed (a proper one with a mattress rather than the hammocks we ordinary crewmembers used, and the sheets were scrambled up and piled like some sort of bird's nest, hah!) A porthole window at the far end of the room was mostly crusted over with salt on the outside, leaving a small peephole through which I could just see the waves lapping around the ship.

"Sorry for the mess," Marco said, leaning against the wall beside the desk and crossing his arms. "I'm not looking forward to packing it up and shifting it all back to the Moby Dick, to be honest. It's amazing how stuff just piles up."

I nodded mutely, swallowing my nerves. I hadn't said much for sure in town – all Marco knew for sure was that I'd been wary of telling anyone at all. Knowing him, maybe he'd figured out what I wanted to say already, but even in that case he'd be wanting me to spit it out for myself.

"I can heal," I blurted out, unable to stop myself even if I'd planned to. "Really fast." I rolled up my sleeves, showing him the faint white scar that traced a line along the outside of my forearm to my elbow. Then I untied the sash around my jacket, lifted up my tank top and pointed to the darker, neat scar on my waist. "I got stabbed by a seven-centimetre knife, and healed completely in maybe thirty seconds."

"How do you know how long the knife was?" Marco asked. I looked up at him—there was an unreadable expression on his face, his eyes even and intent on me.

"'Cause I kept it. It's back in my room." I gave a sharp shrug, letting my top go and tapping the spot on my thigh where the Lightyear girl had stabbed me. "Here too, at the same time. I killed the girl who did it, pulled the knives out and spaced out for a bit, and then I realized it suddenly wasn't hurting so much anymore."

Marco was silent for a long moment. He unfolded his arms and stepped forward, taking hold of my wrist and closely inspecting the scar on that arm. "So you still scar, eh," he commented absently, tracing a fingertip along it. The back of my neck prickled, my pulse speeding up further.

"Mm," I murmured in agreement, partly to distract myself. It was going to be really annoying if I kept reacting like this every time Marco touched me. _Stupid man_, I thought in a moment of weakness. _Stupid Loki, too._

"How do you heal?" he asked suddenly, his pale blue eyes meeting mine with unusual intensity. "I have no doubt that this must be your Devil Fruit power, but do you know how it's healing you?"

Nervously licking my lips, I looked down at my hands. There was a small slash scar across my left palm, a test wound delivered with the same knife that had stabbed me on Kiiroen. "I'm not sure," I said quietly, looking back up at him. "When I tested it, it… sealed over. It didn't even form a scab, it just sort of… started healing really fast around the edges of the cut. Mostly at the ends," I added as an afterthought. "It hurt, a lot more than I thought it would, but it faded pretty quickly near the end. It's even going callused, like the rest of my palms."

"So probably an acceleration of natural healing," Marco mused. He let go of my wrist, gazing thoughtfully at me. I watched him back, and neither of us broke eye contact until all of a sudden, we both seemed to realize that we'd been doing nothing but staring into each other's eyes for a minute or so.

I blushed and looked down, except that gave me a good view of the tattoo on his chest, and that in turn made my heart lurch again. I wanted to reach out and touch him again, feeling the desire with a stronger longing than anything I'd had since the horizon in Tusanto.

Except, for reasons I knew well but couldn't have put into words, I knew I couldn't.

Marco sighed tiredly, stepping away and thus solving my dilemma for me. He glanced back at me once, and the expression in his eyes was for a moment a crazy mix of reluctance and want.

"Just wait here for a moment," he said, heading for the door. "I need to borrow something from Thatch."

"Okay," I said as he slipped out the door, wondering idly what on earth Thatch could possibly have that he'd need. I did not wonder for long – he returned fairly quickly, something metallic clinking in his hands.

I got a good look at it as he turned to face me, placing a short, sharp-looking knife on the desk in front of me.

"There's some things you've always got to consider with healing Devil Fruits," he said, frowning in faint concentration as he untangled a pair of dull, heavy handcuffs. "There's a few of them which give you some sort of healing ability. One makes you downright invulnerable – you never get sick, you can heal from practically anything… I forget what it's called. It's got fairly major limits though, and they're all like that. Mine, for example. I'm a Zoan type, which means I don't really get to do anything special other than heal myself." He gave me a pointed look, raising one eyebrow at me. "Mine doesn't work on other people."

My expression cleared. "Those are seastone?" I nodded at the handcuffs, raising my own eyebrows. "Why has Thatch got seastone handcuffs?"

"Don't ask, eh." Marco grimaced, slipping the manacles over one wrist and snapping them shut. "I hate seastone, it makes me feel sick. But I want to test something, and since I can heal on my own that makes me the ideal test subject."

"You want to see if I can heal people besides myself." I crossed my arms, suddenly nervous for a very different reason. What if it didn't work? What if it did? I didn't know which outcome would be better. One was for me, one was for my nakama – you can't choose between two like that.

Marco raised his forearm and slashed the knife across it in one quick, calculated motion. Blood welled up quickly from a shallow wound, dripping down around his arm and falling in small drops to the floor.

"I'm all yours, Loki," he grinned, offering me his arm.

My mouth moved before my brain had a chance to catch up. "I wish," I said.

There was a moment of deafening silence. Marco stared at me, looking about as surprised as I'd ever seen him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted as though he was thinking of what to say next.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, chasing away the dull horror which permeated my mind. _What's done is done – now hurry up, let's see if I can do this_.

When I opened them again, I reached out and laid my hands on Marco's outstretched arm, one on either side of the wound.

Immediately I felt a tug in my core, and my vision whirled as something of myself transferred to my commander. I felt more than saw the wound stir to life. Muscle fibres connected up automatically, flesh and sinews repairing the damage done by the blade. The steady flow of blood dried up as his veins reconnected, and finally new scar-purple skin formed, sealing the wound off once and for all.

I let go of Marco's arm, and my legs folded up underneath me. Dark spots floated in front of my vision as though I'd stood up too fast; I gave my head a vigorous shake, but they stubbornly remained.

Seastone clinked on the floor as Marco knelt in front of me, slipping his wrist out of the chains and laying his hands on my shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye I saw blue flames flicker on his arm, wiping away all trace of the scar I'd left.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

"Low blood pressure moment," I mumbled, smiling loosely. "It'll pass in a bit."

"Regardless, you should probably rest for a bit." He frowned at me, his blue eyes considering, then gathered me into his arms and shifted me sideways, leaning me back against the frame of his bed. It seemed for a moment as though he wasn't going to let go of me, but then his expression tightened, and he shifted backwards, settling cross-legged on the floor just within arm's reach of me.

I sorted through all the different things I wanted to say first, and settled on, "Please don't stop being friends with me."

He blinked, then grinned. "Why would I do that?

Relief made me smile back at him. "I don't know. I just wanted to make sure, after what I said before."

"I see." His smile faded somewhat, and the look he treated me with turned thoughtful. "That was awkward, wasn't it."

"Very awkward," I agreed. "I'm sorry I said it."

He waved away my apology, shaking his head. "Don't be. It needed to come out into the open sooner or later, preferably in private. Truthfully I was waiting on you to make a move first, just to be sure I had things right in my head."

I blinked in consternation. "How long have you been waiting? I only figured it out today!"

"A week, more or less." Marco chuckled at the expression on my face. "Although that explains why you've been so jumpy around me today."

"Jumpy?" I thought back, to the clothes shop and the conversation we'd had in the street, and the couple of times I'd seen Marco during docking. "I'm sorry," I apologized automatically, without really being sure what exactly I was apologizing for. The wanting to kiss him, maybe._ Goddamn, why can't I forget about that?_

Marco reached across the gap and lightly smacked me on the forehead. "Stop apologizing, it's not like you. This isn't a good situation, but it's not your fault."

"I know," I said, looking up at him through my eyelashes. It was a good look to mask the hollow feeling in my heart – eye contact, but not really. "But what can I do about it?"

"It's nothing so simple as that," Marco sighed, resting his hands on his knees and leaning back. "You can't really do anything proactive about it; we just have to muddle through as best we can. And I'm not convinced getting involved with each other is best for either of us right now."

"Right now?" I repeated, something hammering on the back of my thoughts. He met my gaze, intent and focused.

"For you especially, Loki. You're two, three months old as a person. Does that sound like a good basis for a relationship?"

I shook my head slowly, reluctantly. "No," I said quietly. "But it hurts, Marco."

"I know," he admitted. "But give it time. You'll grow out of it." There was a long pause, before he swallowed, glancing away for a moment. "Or maybe you'll even grow into it."

I chuckled softly, meeting his dusky eyes as he looked back at me. "I like that option better."

He smiled as well. "I thought you might." Bracing his hands against the floor, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning over his desk and sorting through some of the papers there. "Are you feeling better now?"

Blinking, I rubbed my eyes and sat up a little straighter. The strange weakness had gone from my limbs, I was pleased to note. "Yeah, I can see straight now and everything."

"Good." He picked up a sheaf of papers and shook them into some sort of order. "I'll have to tell Pops about your power, but for now we'll keep it a secret between the three of us. Healers, when they appear, can be very valuable to a lot of people. I do have some ideas for what we can do with you, but I'll see what Pops says first."

I nodded my permission. "I figured as much. Neither Damini nor Ace seem to like keeping secrets much, so I just won't tell them."

Marco glanced at me, smiling. "Speaking of Ace, I ought to go see if Vista's lot have docked yet. There's something they need to know." He cut me off as I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant. "Don't worry, Loki, you'll know in a couple of days! The whole crew will, actually."

I frowned, failing to hold back a childish pout. "That's the second time you've hinted something to me and refused to clarify. I ought to hold a grudge against you."

"The 'ought to' part implies that you don't." He grinned openly, gesturing to the cabin door. "I think Panther was planning to spend the afternoon swimming at the town beach. Would you mind telling him I need him back here? If he complains, just say 'unforeseen circumstances'."

"'Unforeseen circumstances', got it." I nodded, scrambling to my feet and taking my first steps towards the door. As I opened it, Marco's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Loki, wait a moment."

I turned around expectantly. In two quick strides Marco crossed the distance between us, leaning down, resting his hands on my shoulders and kissing me.

My body went rigid in surprise, my nerves singing out in pleasure where he touched me. His lips were soft, and kind of warm. I reacted instinctually, turning my face up to meet him and stepping forward, pressing against his body.

He was the first to pull away, a smile of mixed satisfaction and regret on his lips. "A fine talker I am," he commented dryly. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Don't worry," I said, feeling as though he'd lit a sun in my heart. "You're a pirate. Pirates break rules all the time."

"That we do," he agreed mildly. "Treasure that memory though; I won't be doing it again in a hurry."

* * *

><p>The next day was hot and muggy, a thin sheet of white cloud covering the sky above the island. Further out to sea, sun shone down out of a blue sky, glistening light over an unusually calm sea. There was no wind for once, but with cool confidence Damini predicted a storm for the afternoon.<p>

The Moby Dick had arrived early yesterday evening, docking in the deepest water at the very end of the jetty. We first-divisioners had shifted ships after dinner. I was sad to leave the Bluefin and it's baths behind, but there was something right about being back on the Moby Dick.

Even if the Bluefin did hold some good memories for me. I absently touched my fingers to my lips, something I'd been doing a lot since yesterday.

I'd been awake for four hours already when Ace came barreling out of the cabin, racing through the galley kitchen and inhaling a fairly huge leg of ham the cooks had been planning to cut up into slices for lunch, almost without stopping. He downed an entire potful of thick black coffee, gagged on the dregs, and raced outside, vanishing over the railings. I wandered outside, curiously watching him running off down the causeway.

"What's with him?" asked Destry, who had followed me out to the deck, ladles clenched in both hands like weapons of mass destruction. The cook was wearing his favourite apron, a white one printed with a hot pink flamingo wearing sunglasses. Destry's own sunglasses sat askew on his forehead, hilariously mirroring the flamingo's.

I shrugged. "He's Ace. Does he need a reason to do strange stuff?"

"True that. I guess we'll find out what the deal is sooner or later."

There was a flap of cloth, and I stepped back automatically as the fifth division's flamboyant commander leapt up to the Bluefin's deck. Vista was a good couple of feet taller than Marco, broad in the shoulders and sporting a long, curly moustache, which he constantly stroked. He doffed his spotless top hat in a gentlemanly fashion, and smiled at Destry and I.

"Why is Ace in such a rush?" he asked, his voice a deep, rich baritone. "He nearly ran me down. I don't think he even noticed me."

Destry looked at me and shrugged. "We have no clue, other than that it's Ace. Are you looking for Marco? Pops is still asleep."

Vista chuckled, stroking his moustache between two fingers. "No, actually I came to warn you. The guys in Sixth and Fifth have spent the night planning to challenge you all to a day of mud-boxing. The losers pick up the winners' tabs at the bars in town, I believe."

"I'll bet Ace'll be interested, if anyone finds where he went," Destry laughed. "Thanks for the warning. I might go see if anyone's interested."

As it turned out, most of First and all of Second turned out at the estuary where Vista's men had decided to hold the event. Some of Seventh, Third and Fourth tagged along, and Damini and I followed, more out of curiosity than any intent to compete. Pops, sans IV lines, was there as well despite the nurses' concerns: in his own words, he'd "be damned if I missed such a damn fool idea! Gurararara!"

Ace still wasn't anywhere to be seen, though.

The estuary arena was further around the bay from Yaffa township, where a small river emptied into the ocean. The air was laced with the smell of rotting seaweed, which only got slightly less noticeable as I got used to it. Thick black mud covered the ground, and I was very quickly very glad that I'd never bothered to get some shoes. They'd have only gotten sucked off by the mud.

I asked the nearest man I knew – Teach – what mud-boxing was. His answer was succinct: "Like mud-wrestling, only more painful."

This was an interesting thing to say, as I later found out that Teach was the current reigning champion.

Damini and I gave up on the mud soon enough, and settled down cross-legged on a little sandy hummock near Pops to watch from a distance. Several dozen matches were called at once, with little Neelam as officiator and Marco as referee.

"Smart, but not smart enough," Thatch grinned, watching Marco wander about between the matches. "I'll see to it that he doesn't get away spotless today, Pops! Just you wait and see."

"If I were you I'd be worried for my clothes," Pops rumbled, giving Thatch's snow-white pants and jacket a cursory glance. "That'll stain so bad you'll have to get that damn Marine washerwoman to get it all out."

Thatch shuddered, still grinning. "No thanks, I'll just buy some new ones. Roberta probably knows where to get 'em from."

"Not 'less you want to cross-dress," someone nearby put in, triggering a fit of mad giggles in half the audience. I snickered, while Thatch searched in vain for the perpetrator.

There was a squelching noise in the mud, and a faint shadow fell across my sandy knoll. Damini and I looked up curiously.

Lilian Maldive stood there, his slippers in one hand and his ever-present kind smile on his lips. "May I join you for a while?" he asked, bending down to scrape some of the mud off the hems of his trousers. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment, Loki."

"Sure." I shuffled closer to Damini, freeing up enough room for him to sit down on the side of the knoll. He did so with a grateful sigh, setting his slippers down and folding his hands in his lap.

"Marco and Whitebeard were talking about you last night," he began, and suddenly I thought I knew what he wanted to say. "Both of them think it would be a good idea for you to get some medical training, and right now the best way for you to do that is for you to become my apprentice." He winced as one of the first-divisioners out in the estuary picked up his opponent and dumped the man on his back in the mud. "At the very least, it would be good for me to have a young, strong assistant."

I nodded in silent agreement, watching him out the corner of my eye. Lilian was probably one of the oldest Whitebeard Pirates; possessor of a flyaway mop of grey hair, and lined, weatherbeaten skin. He was shorter and more solidly built than I was as well, but his eyes were the clear grey-green of a much younger man.

"I think you're probably right," I said eventually, tucking my legs up in front of my chest and resting my chin on my knees. "Neroli won't be happy though; she was teaching me some sailing tricks before she got hurt."

Lilian laughed softly. "I've already spoken with her. You will need to know how to sail as well, for whatever the future holds, so she'll get you for one day a week. It'll be slower going than it was before, but that way you get four days with me and two rest days as well while you're training. Will that work, do you think?"

"It ought to, yeah." Smiling, I glanced at Damini, who had been listening quite intently to our conversation. She blinked, and grinned apologetically.

"Sorry, Loki. I didn't know you were going to start training to be a doctor. How come?"

"It's a pretty recent development," I said, shrugging loosely. "Marco suggested it last night, and I think it's a good idea."

"Yes, it could be interesting." Damini's eyes flicked back to the mud-boxing, her attention caught by something. "Oh, ow, that looked painful!"

"What happened?" I'd missed whatever it was. Damini cringed and remained silent, so Lilian answered instead.

"I'd be willing to bet Tad's opponent just broke his nose. I can't see for sure, but it knocked him down. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't lose within a minute."

Miracle it was, though. Tad managed to stay more or less upright, with one knee braced in the mud and one foot out in front to keep him balanced. He avoided a nasty sweeping kick and surged to his feet with his fist cocked, slamming it onto his opponent's jaw with all the power he could muster. His opponent, a tall, heavyset sixth-divisioner, went down and stayed down.

Marco declared the match won, and sent Tad over our way to receive Lilian's attention.

"I cabt breave," Tad said as soon as he was within earshot, his golden eyes narrowed and watering as blood dripped sluggishly down his lip. "Dis bwoody sucks."

"At least you won, right?" Lilian stood up, squelching over to inspect Tad's nose. "This must hurt."

"I heard it crunch," Marco put in, hauling Tad's unconscious opponent over to Sixth's doctor. "Watch out, Tadpole, you're dripping on your shirt."

Tad made a wordless noise of despair, and very carefully pulled his shirt off. It was black, patterned with stylized red and white eyes, and he was very proud of it. Underneath it, his torso was just as mud-smeared as the rest of him. Half-visible underneath the muck was a small, blue-green Whitebeard cross-and-crescent tattoo which had been inked over a puckered brand on the left side of his chest. I couldn't quite read the brand, but several of the older pirates around me narrowed their eyes at it.

Tad seemed oblivious to their attention, however. He delicately rolled his shirt up and tossed it at me, giving me a pleading look over his bloody nose. "'Oki, 'ook abter dat bor me, p'ease?"

I judiciously translated this as 'Loki, look after that for me please?', and nodded. "Sure."

Meanwhile, Lilian had finished his diagnosis. "It's not too badly out of alignment, but I'm going to have to straighten it anyway. Prepare yourself, kid."

Tad mumbled something and nodded. He was silent as Lilian shifted his nose back into place, but as soon as the doctor was done he opened his mouth and let out a string of outlandish swearwords in the thickest drawl I'd ever heard him speak with.

"Geez Tad, what crawled into your mouth and died?"

Ace had arrived. I turned and looked over my shoulder, grinning at him as he squelched through the mud towards our little group. I opened my mouth to reply, but Tad beat me to it.

"Where d' 'ell a' ya been?" He bent down and snatched up a handful of the stinking mud, but merely tossed it from hand to sticky hand for now, trying to scowl at Ace without moving anything that attached to his nose. The end resilt was a frighteningly ghouslish leer, and I didn't blame Ace when he took a step backwards, giving Tad a wide-eyed, spooked look.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" he asked, sounding honestly confused. "What's everyone doing without me?"

"Mud-boxing," Marco explained succinctly, while the contestants in the match he was currently refereeing took advantage of his inattention to commit some creative cheating. "You did race off without telling anyone where you were going, so you can't blame us for starting without you."

"Huh?" Ace said, for the second time in as many minutes. He turned to Tad, crestfallen. "I was sure I told you!"

"Ya nebber did! An' yer jus' missed me epic victory, ya wet-arsed sod!" Tad apparently was in no mood to forgive and forget. He attempted to hurl the mudball at Ace, but it stuck to his fingers for longer than it should have, and splatted to the ground a couple of feet in front of Ace, who frowned at it.

"Oh. Well, hell. I just went to see if my boat was ready yet."

"Your boat?" Thatch asked, grinning interestedly. "I didn't know you wanted a boat."

"Yeah! I commissioned it yesterday, just after we arrived." The fire Logia grinned from ear to ear, resting his hands on his hips. "It's gonna be so cool, just you wait! It looks kind of like a surfboard at the moment, but it's gonna have a mast and a sail and little outriggers when it's done."

"If you only commissioned it yesterday, then it's gonna take ages yet." Marco pointed out. "Boats don't grow on trees, eh."

"What do you want a boat for?" Whitebeard rumbled, frowning down at "More importantly, where'd you get the money for it?"

"Well, it's only a small one, so the guy said it shouldn't take long. And I've been saving up," Ace shrugged dismissively. "You know there's that old shipbuilder who does all those mechanical models back in town? Well, I asked him if he could make one run on fire. He mumbled something about an internal combustion engine or some such weird thing, so I said, 'just make it run on my flames.' And he yelled at me for a bit, but then he said 'okay.' And he gave me a discount 'cuz of this—" he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the tattoo on his back, and grinned. "Said it'd be good publicity to have a Whitebeard Pirate using one of his machines – which I really agree with, by the way!"

"Sounds like fun," Thatch chuckled. "What're you gonna do with it though?"

"I dunno." Ace made a face, shifting in the mud. "But it's there if I ever need it, right? And I figure I can use it for battles, 'cause it'd be nice if I went and sank someone's ship and then didn't have to get rescued by one of you jokers."

"Fair enough. Tell us when it's finished, and I'll lend you some of my good rum for namin' it." Pops grinned as Ace's face lit up. "There aren't really any festivals coming up, so let's make one of our own."

* * *

><p><em>Word Count:<em> 6561

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**

**-Here comes the FAQ!**

_-What are cabbage trees?_

I've actually had a few people ask me this, some ages back and some more recently… so since I love cabbage trees, I'll explain here. They're a type of tree which sort of resembles a palm with lots of branches and flax-shaped leaves. They grow all over the place in New Zealand – according to the pioneers, the hearts of the leaf bunches taste like cabbage if you boil them for about four hours and pound the crap out of them. Actually, there's a lot of common Kiwi flora in this fic… they do say to write what you know~

_-Why did you use Marco's first design, with the red tattoo etc., instead of his current one?_

Basically 'cause the first time I drew Marco, that was the colour scheme he had on my reference picture. The second time I drew him, I had no ref handy, so I drew him from my memory of the first time I drew him… and by the time I found a decent ref of his current colour scheme, I'd gotten used to the red tattoo and the pale shirt, so the bright blue and purple looked really wrong to me. Plus I just think the more muted colours suit his personality better, especially as he is here in Roofies.


	19. If There's Lessons To Be Learned

Gawd. Guys, I am so sorry for this insane hiatus, so soon after the last one. I have no excuse bar having had a bad case of robots on the brain, which is a sad affliction cured only by the reading and writing of lots of rather… interesting fanfic. (I fell in love with Transformers Prime, and with shipping Optimus and Ratchet. I have committed porn without plot, mpreg and many other things I swore I'd never do besides. I'm actually not sorry at all for that.)

This is basically a filler chapter, full of OCs and whatnot. Loki starts her assistance in the doctors' cabin and Things Happen. We start a timeskip with the next chapter and begin moving into the canon timeline – Luffy getting his first bounty and whatnot.

**WARNING** - if you are at all squeamish you may want to skip the last third or so of this chapter. Especially if you are creeped out by creepy-crawlies of the maggot variety. It's based on a true medical story, and things that are based on true medical stories are usually pretty damn gross.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Something In The Water<strong>

_Chapter Seventeen: If There's Lessons To Be Learned_

: : : : : : : :

I didn't sleep well that night. Though my eyes felt gritty with exhaustion, and my conscious mind went blank for minutes at a time, I couldn't quite wind down to the point where I was able to drift off to sleep.

Subconscious parts of me were hooked on what had happened earlier that day. My confession – my scary, awkwardly honest, spectacularly nervewracking admission of something even I could admit I didn't fully understand – kept pushing itself out from my subconscious and into my wakening thoughts. The way Marco's eyes widened as he stared at me, seeing me for what I wanted rather than what I was, kept forcing my own eyes open. Thoughts of the way his lips had felt against mine, making my breath quicken, my skin tingle.

Memories, precious experience. All of a sudden, I felt doubly afraid of forgetting it all.

When I finally drifted off to sleep, I dreamed of dark water, deep and terrifying. I felt the rain on my skin as if it were real, freezing my flesh in creeping fingers of white, soaking me to the bone. Waves, storm-high and capped in white froth, towered above me, building up into mountains of water before crashing down on my head with the force of a hurricane. I struggled to stay afloat, gasping for breath when I surfaced through an atmosphere that seemed more water than air.

I woke in the middle of the night, I don't know how much later, with my heart pounding, my bundled blanket wet with my own sweat. A trickle of cool tropical water dribbled down my forehead, dripping from a leak in the cabin ceiling.

The sound of soft breathing filled the cabin, the warm Yaffan air close and stifling. The faint crack of furled sails snapped in the wind outside.

I pulled myself up and out of my hammock, landing on the deck with a thump stunningly loud in the midnight hush. I froze instinctually, listening for my crewmates. Sierra snorted in her sleep and rolled over; Verna's hand peeked out from under her thin sheets. None woke.

Water and sweat trickled down my face. I blinked it out of my eyes, wiping my face with the back of a hand. My heart still thumped madly against my ribcage. I slowed my breathing, hoping it would calm the adrenaline flowing through my veins.

I needed to get out of here. The ceiling loomed, shadows like waves bearing down on my shoulders. I headed through the darkness to the ladder, emerging onto the top deck with a physical rush of relief.

One of the night's watchmen hailed me, softly out of respect for those who were sleeping. He approached me with a flickering lantern in his hand. I recognised Tad behind the bandanna across the lower half of his face.

His voice still sounded quite nasal, and looking at the livid bruise which stretched across his cheeks and up between his eyes I was left in no doubt as to why.

"What's up, No-Grins?"

"I had a nightmare," I said. "There was a leak dripping on my face. Thought I was drowning."

Tad slapped a booted foot against the deck. It had rained that evening, and the timbers were still very damp. "Can't say I'm surprised. Get to Dollface and the repair guys in the morning. They'll probably be happy for something useful to do."

"Will do." I spread my toes against the wet decking and balanced myself as the ship rocked in the wind. Yaffa's windows were dark, barring a few still-active pubs around the waterfront. "What's the time?"

Tad shrugged. "Buggered if I know. Past time I was in bed. I got rained on, you know."

"Panther would say that that just builds character."

"Bah! When was the last time he took a night watch in the rain?" Tad rolled his eyes. "At least this is Yaffa. Rainy night watches on winter islands are the most miserable thing in the entire world. You just wait until you've suffered through one. You haven't really lived until you do."

I snorted – _that's what I think of that idea._ "What's still open in town? I need to distract myself. And stop distracting you before the watch captain finds us."

Again, Tad shrugged. "Pirate bars. There's a bath-house on Rue Vanadin that's open all hours. Ace's toymaker might still be in his shop. Have a poke around; you'll probably find something."

All of which sounded like a good idea. I was buoyed up with nervous energy, fingers twitching, nerves thrumming. "Thanks. Have a good watch."

"To be honest, I pray for a boring one," Tad said drily, and moved off.

I found the boarding plank by lamplight and left the Moby Dick in silence.

The township of Yaffa stretched out from the main town into a thin crescent reaching along the waterfront to the headlands at either end of the bay. Rather than heading north into the main town, I turned south and headed along the thin dirt road behind the beach. The fresh wet smell of rain overpowered almost everything. The occasional gust of wind brought the ever-present salty tang of waves and spume in off the sea, a thick taste that coated the inside of my mouth with every breath.

I ended up on Rue Vanadin, a narrow stone-cobbled alley leading up into the hills behind the very end of the beach. A small rivulet splashed down the gutter in the middle of the street, washing dust and rubbish away. The occasional nocturnal traveller wandered past, the glint of eyes in shadowed faces flashing under streetlamps bracketed to the plastered walls of houses. Most had the look of pirates. I kept a close eye on them as they passed one by one. I was not in the mood for trouble.

The bath-house's door was open, warm golden light spilling out onto the street. Soft murmurs drifted out into the street, men's voices and women's alike. A sign hanging from the side of the building proclaimed that seven pools and eighteen showers were still open.

Neroli had paid me a small sum of money to go into a chocolatier's in town for her that evening, shortly before the rain hit. I had spent most of it on a new notebook and a pair of chalk pencils already, but I still had a few berie left over. With luck, that would be enough to pay for a shower.

I headed inside, into the light.

The women at the desk broke off their conversation, turning their heads and smiling tiredly at me. There was a clock on the wall behind them; it read twenty-five past three in the morning.

"How much for a shower?" I asked, digging the coins out of my pocket. There didn't seem to be a price list anywhere. "Private, if possible."

"Showers are free, but private'll cost," the first woman, redheaded and brown-skinned, said, rolling a cigarette between painted fingers. "Fifty berie. I'd say seventy, but I don't get paid enough for that at this time of night."

The second woman laughed, taking my money with a warm smile and passing me a key in return. "Here you go, dear. Doors lock from the inside so you won't have any nasty surprises. Soaps and washes should be in a basket inside the cubicle; call the attendant if there's anything missing."

"Thank you."

She pointed me towards the leftmost door into the rear of the house. I passed through it into a narrow, windowless stone corridor. Iron lamps punctuated the gloom, light reflecting from the brass hinges and handles of very new-looking doors.

I kept going until I found a door near the middle of the corridor that wasn't locked already. The room beyond was small, but high-ceilinged and with a set of shutters above head height opened wide to let in the night breeze. There were two lamps, both already lit. It looked very clean; the tiled floor was free of mold and the stone walls gleamed their natural colours under the light.

I stepped inside, locking the door behind myself. The click of the mechanism echoed through the vaulted space.

There were no showers on the Moby Dick, but Lorna's house in Tusanto had had one. I knew how to work them. Sort of.

I stripped my clothes off, folding them and placing them in a corner, well away from the muddy footprints I'd left when I entered.

My own naked body caught my attention, and for a moment I stood staring down at myself as if at a fascinating new animal. I raised my hands and blinked at the calluses over my palms and fingers, then cupping them over my breasts, my biceps, my belly. I'd gained weight since I'd joined the crew. In Tusanto I could have felt my ribs through my skin without pressing down, but now a layer of fat and muscle covered everything. There was an outward swell to my belly, disguising the hard abdominal muscle I could feel beneath it. My upper arm and shoulder muscles felt huge and strong. No wonder I'd been finding rigging duty so much easier lately!

I drew in a deep breath and released it, closing my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I turned to the shower controls and pulled the water stopper all the way out.

Icy water hammered down onto me. I let out a strangled shriek, shoving it back in. The hail of tiny bullets stopped. I leant forward, pressing my forehead against the wall for a moment as I closed my eyes and tried to claw back my body heat.

Okay.

There were a couple of dials beside the water stopper knob. I fiddled with the ones marked 'hot' and 'cold', then gingerly turned the water back on. The temperature this time was _much_ more bearable, the spray hard and refreshing rather than drilling into my skin. Gravity dragged at the bottom of my stomach, my Devil Fruit stirring. Showers were not enough to trigger the full reaction, but I sat anyway, dragging the soap basket over and choosing a sweet-smelling rose-pink bar with something rough and white all through it. Pumice, perhaps.

I wasn't expected back at the Moby Dick until the next afternoon. I could take all the time I wanted.

With that in mind, I set to work.

It was a nice feeling to be clean. The dirt and mud that had settled on my body over the past week swirled away down the drain, and with it went some of the stress and nervousness I'd been feeling since the war on Kiiroen.

I exhaled, and kept going with renewed strength and a small, unconscious smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

: : : : : : : : :

I presented myself in the doctors' cabin at half past six that morning, having refueled myself on a cup of hot green tea with honey and a small wheatcake-and-banana breakfast after returning to the ship.

Lilian, returning to the cabin with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, waved me inside.

The cabin was one of the big ones on the high rear deck, across the corridor from Whitebeard's rooms. The open windows faced east, and bright morning sunlight streamed through and onto the row of fourteen sickbeds beneath. Panther looked up from a local newspaper, narrowing his eyes when he saw me. Neroli was asleep again, her face from the nose down tucked under a clean woollen blanket. Small pot plants hung from the roof, swaying gently in the motion of the ship.

Lilian moved to a cluttered desk by the opposite wall, downing most of his coffee in one gulp. "Good morning, Loki. I hope you slept well last night, because I intend to give you a thorough workout today, in both mind and body." He gave me a gentle smile, his eyes twinkling with good humour behind his shaggy mop of hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Clean," I replied, entirely honestly. I'd scrubbed every inch of my body until the skin was pink and clear. The walk back had undone the effort as far as my feet were concerned, but the rest of me was certain the sacrifice had been worth it.

"I see." Lilian smiled. "Fitting, because your first lesson is all about cleanliness. There is a sink and a strong soap at the rear of the room, down there. Go and wash your hands with that soap for thirty seconds."

More washing? I did as I was told nevertheless. There was a clock on the wall, but it was behind me, so I counted thirty ticks before rinsing and drying my hands.

"Good. Come back and show me," Lilian commanded. He inspected my fingernails for dirt, then gave me my hands back with a pleased grunt. "If you're going to do anything at all in this room, I want you to wash your hands often. Every time you handle medicines, every time you touch a new patient, even if it's for a minor procedure. Get into the habit of doing so. I'd prefer that we had gloves to use, but they're hard to come by and we need to save them for emergencies. Dirt and bodily contact are two of the main mediums through which disease is transmitted. Washing our hands often is therefore one of the best ways of preventing outbreaks of disease. Every time you enter this room, wash your hands. All right?"

I nodded. The soap had been so strong that it almost stung. Disease transmission sounded like a serious thing.

Lilian twisted in his chair and took a massive book off the shelf behind him. "Fortunately for you, we haven't had any patients aside from these two recently, so there is no washing or cleaning to be done this morning.. Have a look through the first few chapters of this book this morning. Take notes if you want; I've got some paper hanging around somewhere. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me. I'm going to wash my hands now, but after that I'll be refiling things for an hour or two, and I have a feeling I'll welcome the distraction!"

There was a soft snort from the beds. Panther looked as though he were absorbed in his newspaper, but certain tightness around his mouth made him look as if he were trying to hold back a smile.

"All right," I said, taking the book. It was _heavy_ – I leant back, lacing my fingers together around the spine and taking as much of its weight as I could on my hips. "Where should I sit?"

Lilian hummed thoughtfully. "On one of the beds will do. Barring a surprise attack in our own territory we're not likely to be needing them anytime soon, and everyone could do with a little more sunlight in my opinion."

I headed for the one on Neroli's other side, flopping the book down onto the covers and climbing on. The sun drenched my back in warmth. I crossed my legs and carefully opened the book to its first page.

The ship came awake as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky, the constant murmur of voices inside the doctors' cabin and out on deck keeping me company. More people came in and out of the infirmary than I had expected over the course of the morning. Two of Whitebeard's nurses arrived shortly after I'd sat down, occupying Lilian's attention for half an hour before the brontide rumble of Whitebeard's voice rose into levels audible through three walls, prompting them to hurry away with his morning dose of medicine. Half an hour later, a short, curly-haired woman slipped through the open door, looking around furtively. Her dark face lit up in a brilliant smile as she caught sight of Panther.

"Priscilla!" he exclaimed, putting down his newspaper and returning the expression with interest. She climbed onto his bed and installed herself beside him, and they spent the best part of the next two hours curled up together, talking in hushed voices and kissing as if they wanted to be joined together forever.

About half an hour after Priscilla left, Neroli stretched and sighed and tried her best to wake up. Lilian sent me to the kitchen to get her some breakfast. The cooks all but buried me under a tray full of strong-smelling beef stew, bread and cheese and slices of three different fruits. When I returned, Neroli was sitting up, blinking, and there was a strange man in Lilian's vacated chair.

"Who are you?" he demanded as I walked into the room, drawing himself up in righteous affront. "You haven't been authorised to be in here."

I nervously came to a halt. Should I give Neroli her food first, or should I answer? The man must have outstripped me by close on twelve inches. He wasn't broad or fat, but he wore big clothes and his hands dwarfed the empty coffee mug on Lilian's desk, which the doctor had had to hold in both hands.

Panther, of all people, came to my rescue. "Actually, Sherwood, she has. I know Lilian told you yesterday."

Annoyance flashed across the man's face, thin lips pursing and washed-out blue eyes narrowing. "I don't remember anything like that," he said, as if that fact was all our fault.

I made an executive decision and brought the breakfast tray to Neroli before she fell asleep again. She grinned quiet thanks at me and got stuck into the stew.

The strange man huffed, looking me up and down. I'd never met such a scrutinising gaze. I felt as though every inch of me was being weighed up, judged and evaluated, and found lacking. I looked him in the eyes and stared back out of self-defense. It was an awkward standoff, but I was determined not to make the first move.

"Hmph," he said eventually. "What's your name, chit?"

"I'm not a chit, whatever that means," I replied, as evenly as I could. Everything about this man was abrasive, from the natty little hat he wore to the obsessively-waxed exterior of his leather shoes. The way he'd said 'chit' was making my throat close up. It was a thoroughly unpleasant sensation.

He rolled his eyes as derisively as I'd ever seen anyone do, and repeated the question. "What's your name, _girl_?"

"I'm Loki. Lilian's asked me to be his assistant for a while. Who are you?"

The man sniffed. "I can't say I think much of his choice to do so." He turned, picked up a thin book from the top of Lilian's desk, and swept out of the room.

I blinked until the tight feeling in my throat eased, then turned back to the bed I'd been sitting on earlier. The patch of sun had migrated closer to the bedstead in my absence. I sat down on the pillow and pulled the book closer, attempting to forget all about the incident.

"He's Sherwood Brandywine," Panther croaked, picking up his newspaper once again. "The Lightyears' doctor. He's one of the ones who protested the Kiiroen expedition. I can't say I've seen him act like that before – but then, he's only been helping treat us for a few days now."

"Perhaps he got out of the wrong side of bed," Neroli suggested through a mouthful of stew. "Or maybe he just doesn't like blondes."

Panther sighed. "He is a good doctor, although his bedside manner leaves a little to be desired. Try to get along with him; it will make things easier in the long run."

"I'll do my best," I said_. _

It took me a while to concentrate on the book again. Neroli and Panther chatted companionably as the morning wore on, and I kept hearing things in their conversation that brought me out of my focus.

Lilian returned about ten minutes later with another mug of coffee and a young guy with a nasty set of rope burns on his hands in tow. He called me over for five minutes to watch the wound's treatment – run under cold water, wipe with peroxide, dose with aloe gel and wrap in a thin bandage – then, patient sent on their merry way, quizzed me for a few minutes about the contents of the book so far. I hadn't gotten very far, but it had been a fascinating read. The first chapter had focused on basic human anatomy, with a few handwritten notes – Lilian's, I guessed – about fishmen in the margins. He seemed pleased with my progress, however. The last of the nasty feelings from Sherwood's visit quickly dissipated.

The day stretched on. Sherwood returned around three in the afternoon. I did my best to ignore his presence while he spoke in low voices with Lilian, then sat on a stool in the corner, sipping black tea and scowling at the floor. I tried not to look at him. Every time I did, my muscles tensed and my heartbeat quickened; like fear, but without the threat of physical harm.

I turned the page a little harder than I'd meant to, and the old paper ripped. My heart leapt into my mouth.

Fortunately the rip was only small; the length of my thumbnail or so. I smoothed the paper with my fingertips and took a deep breath, wondering if there was anything I could do to repair it.

There was a knock at the door.

An unfamiliar man looked in. Another former Lightyear, by the brands on his bare wrists. His face was lined, his silvering black hair drawn back into a sailor's ponytail that slipped over his stooped shoulder as he limped into the room. He wore a ragged grey Carolingen-style robe over a loose ruffled shirt. I blinked, and remembered that I'd seen him in the gathering when Marco and I went to negotiate with Amarna on Kiiroen Island. He'd been one of a few older pirates who had hung back, looks of wary respect on their faces.

"Dustin," Sherwood greeted, rising with a paternalistic scowl on his face. "How is your foot?"

The man shrugged, looking away. "Hurts a bit. Thought I oughta come find you."

Sherwood actively tutted. I'd never heard a man make that sort of sound before. "Well, come over and sit down. It's well past time I should have checked on it."

The man, Dustin, did so. He wasn't dragging his foot, but he seemed loathe to put his weight down on it, which resulted in an almost hopping gait. His massive boots, which looked as though they'd survived unchanged from the time of the Void Century, knocked loudly and arrhythmically against the deck.

Lilian picked a thin sheaf of unmarked papers from the mess on his desk. "How much of his patient history can you give me?"

Sherwood, moving forward to give Dustin a hand, raised his eyebrows. "Patient is Dustin Landry, sixty-two years old. Current injury is a deep laceration to his left foot caused by the former Lightyear Pirates captain, Amarna della Fiorienzi. Initial wound was sustained two weeks ago; I was unable to treat it until sixteen hours subsequently. It required sixteen stitches, two of which I removed twelve days ago." He installed Dustin on the stool and turned his attention towards his patient. "When was the last time you changed the dressing?"

"On Kiiroen," Dustin grunted. Sherwood sucked in a whistling breath between his teeth and practically levitated. Dustin cut him off with an aggrieved growl. "I haven't exactly had the chance since then, mama hen! I been stuck in the brig below decks and ain't no-one woulda given me anything to do it with."

Lilian's bushy brows came together in concern. "How does your foot feel? Honestly, please, without trying to be tough. We are here to help and we cannot do that unless you give us accurate information to work with."

Dustin looked down. Sherwood had started unlacing his boot. A muscle in his cheek twitched and his eyes slid away as though afraid of what he might begin to see.

"...I can't feel my little toes," he admitted.

"Never a good sign!" Sherwood said pointedly. "Tell me if this hurts."

Dustin did not get the chance to obey: as Sherwood slowly pulled the boot off, his eyes screwed shut and he bared his teeth, hissing in pain.

Sherwood stood up abruptly, blocking my view. "I need alcohol, swab and a specimen container, _now."_

"Loki, glass containers are in the cupboard up there," Lilian ordered, pointing toward the near end of the room. I leapt off the bed. Inside the cupboard was a box which clinked when I pulled it out. "Yes, in there. Be careful."

I brought the dish to Sherwood at about the same time as Lilian retrieved the swabs and the alcohol.

It did not take a medical professional to work out what had gone wrong with Dustin's foot. The bandages were old and dark with blood, and the inside of a boot which hadn't been removed for days was not a clean environment under the very best of circumstances.

Sherwood, having meticulously washed his hands, began to unwind the bandages.

I noticed something white, like a bit of fluff, clinging to the opening of Dustin's abandoned boot. It took me a while to work out what it was – and then it _moved._

I recoiled so hard I took an involuntary step backwards.

Lilian drew me backwards and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, directing the question at me and me alone.

I nodded shortly, eyes locked on the squirming maggot on Dustin's boot. "Can I ask a question? Is that something which happens often?"

"Unfortunately I can't say that it's rare," Lilian admitted. "It is among our crew, because we have a higher standard of personal hygiene and crew care than most, but others? No, not particularly."

"I see," I said, forcing myself to blink and look away.

On the floor, Sherwood grunted. He'd removed the stinking bandages, and sat staring at the small threadlike maggots that crawled over – and in some cases _through_ – Dustin's bruised and pale foot. I could see the wound that had started the whole thing, wrapped around the outside arch of his foot, red, crusted with dried blood and weeping fluids.

"How did they get in there?" he murmured, almost absently. His voice firmed, and he continued, "I'm going to need a torch."

"Why?" Dustin asked with, due credit to him, only a small quaver in his voice. His eyes were quite tight shut, and there was an air about him as if he were attempting to pretend that the foot in question had absolutely nothing to do with him. His lips were drawn tight in utter disgust.

Lilian returned to his desk and pulled a few small drawers open, pulling out a small glass-and-steel bauble attached to a chain before switching to the vials of powders held securely in racks on the wall. "Because maggots are attracted to light. They'll come up to see what's happening, and then we can pick them out. The thing is, they're actually not doing anything _bad_ where they are – they eat dead flesh, and will leave the living alone. Doctors a long time ago used to deliberately introduce them to wounds which had gone bad and leave them for a while to clean it out. We have more efficient ways of doing this these days, fortunately! Either way, you do not need to worry."

He poured the contents of one vial into the bauble, then struck a match and poked it in as well. The powder caught alight with a ferocious burn. He quickly withdrew the remnants of the match and passed it to Sherwood, who held it quite close to Dustin's foot and began picking the creepy-crawlies off of the wound.

I closed my eyes and turned around, not sure that I had the stomach to continue watching. When I opened them again, I was greeted with the sight of two bedridden pirates who had seen and heard things far beyond their ken. Panther had lain down and pressed his pillow over his face as if to block both sight and sound of the procedure, and Neroli, far less disciplined, was staring up at the ceiling, her face a rictus of horror.

Well. By those standards, I supposed I was doing well.

I sat back on my bed and resumed my studies while Dustin was steadily de-bugged. Despite his protests, Sherwood put him in one of the sickbeds afterwards, forbidding him expressly to leave until his foot was no longer corpse-coloured. He suffered through an alcohol bath, the draining of the wound, and the insertion of new stitches, after which he still couldn't feel his toes but Sherwood was optimistic that he wouldn't have to have his whole foot amputated.

Lilian let me off the shift at five that evening, just in time for dinner. "You've had an eventful afternoon," he told me, jade-green eyes twinkling. "Go find your friends and see if you can't put them off their food for once."

I doubted the story would have robbed Ace or Teach of their appetites, but took pity on them regardless and saved the retelling of my first day as doctor's apprentice for after the meal.

* * *

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_Word Count:_ 4899

**-Constructive Criticism Welcomed!**

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